


Run Softly, For I Speak Not Loud or Long

by Allecto, blackbird



Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-30
Updated: 2012-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-23 00:54:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 39,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/616269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allecto/pseuds/Allecto, https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackbird/pseuds/blackbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki is returned to Asgard to answer for his crimes. When Jane, along with Darcy, arrive to assist in repairing the Bifrost, he begins to realize that change is possible, if given the right motivation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Run Softly, For I Speak Not Loud or Long

**Author's Note:**

> This story began this summer in a volley of e-mails between Allecto and I and it grew and grew and grew until we had to make it a real story. Thanks to hetrez for audiencing and very, very, very special thanks to Schuyler, who not only read along the entire way, but beta read this monster in a single day.
> 
> The title comes from "The Waste Land" by T.S. Eliot.

The cell they throw him in is black, save a sliver of weak light from the slit in the door. It’s not the darkness that bothers Loki. It’s the cuffs clamped around his wrists. They inhibit his magic. He has been able to cast weak healing and cleansing spells, but he cannot teleport or send his shade out to eavesdrop on his brot -- _Thor_ and his ragtag little band of warriors. 

This incarceration is not ideal. But Loki has been in darkness far more terrifying recently, so he stretches out on the stiff cot and waits, the rage clawing at his chest. He needs to be prepared for whatever will come next.

*

Travelling via the Tesseract would not have been Loki’s preference. Of course, he would also have preferred not come back to Asgard shackled and muzzled like a common, rabid animal either. But it was made clear to him from the moment Thor entered his cell that morning that Loki’s wants were once again secondary to Thor’s will.

When they reappear in the Observatory, Heimdall merely nods. Loki scowls, but under the muzzle, it goes unseen. There is a cadre of Odin’s guard waiting to escort them to the Palace. He considers flinging himself off into the empty blackness again but fear of what else he might encounter there keeps him on the bridge. That and Thor’s heavy hand on his shoulder as they march forward.

There is a small crowd gathered near the entrance. No one speaks, but Loki can see the loathing in their eyes. Not just for his crimes, but for his true roots. A Jotun on the throne of Asgard is the worst thing that their tiny minds can imagine. Loki wishes he was free to project an illusion of true horror. That would serve them all right.

The guards lead them down past the massive kitchens and the servants quarters. 

“Where are we going?” Thor asks, but Loki knows.

In the far corner of the palace is a small spare room that is used for storage in the cold months. Loki used to hide there with his books of magic when he was small and did not wish to be ridiculed by the other boys. It only happened when Thor was not present to glower and threaten until they stopped.

When they arrive, the head guard nods and Loki is shoved inside unceremoniously. He stumbles, but rights himself before he falls to his knees. He will not give them the satisfaction.

“The All-Father will call for him in the morning.”

Thor nods. “You are dismissed. I will lock the door.”

The keys are handed over to Thor and his escorts disperse. Loki folds himself onto the narrow cot that has been tucked into the corner. The way Thor lingers by the door makes him want to ring his thick, brutish neck. His fingers flex.

“I would not wish this on you, Brother. But Father will not allow your deeds to go unpunished. I will advocate for you as much as I am able.”

Loki narrows his eyes and hopes that Thor can read his disdain clearly. Frustration wells in him that he cannot speak, spit curses and cruelty at him until Thor flees. Anything would be better than these baleful looks and treacly platitudes.

“I will come to escort you in the morning,” Thor finally says, closing the door. The locks go into place with metallic thunks and Loki exhales. No one will bother him, he’s sure. Carefully, he tries to settle back onto the cot. His body is still battered from his encounter with the green monster. There was not time to heal himself with magic before he was imprisoned.

He has just begun to drift off when he hears someone at the door. It cannot yet be morning. A shard of fear cuts through him. Has Thanos come so soon to collect his debt? Or has there been a mutiny and Odin’s guards would risk his wrath to have their very own Jotun to torture. He crouches in the corner in as much of a defensive position as his shackles will allow.

But it is neither of those outlined in the lantern light when the door opens.

It is Frigga, wrapped in her thick silk robes.

Somehow, he wishes it were someone here to torture him because the look of heartbroken relief on her face is perhaps worse than anything his mind could have conjured. She closes the door and rushes to him, dropping to her knees on the filthy floor.

“Oh, Loki,” she says and he can see the tears in her eyes already. “I thought you were dead.”

He tries to pull away when she folds him into her arms as she did when he was a boy. Her smell is unchanged from then -- vetiver, rose hips, wool. It makes him ache in a way he was unprepared for. Holding himself as still as he can, he tries to get away from her.

“Please, Loki,” she says, cheeks damp and shining, “My boy. I saw terrible things, Loki. I was sick with them. But you are here.” Her thumbs brush his cheeks above where the blasted muzzle is keeping him quiet and she does not bother to wipe her face. “My baby. I will never forgive myself for keeping such a secret from you. If I hadn’t, maybe -- “

He shakes his head violently. She is not to blame for this. Frigga did well by him. Evil is in his nature, bred into his blood and bones. It is not until she pulls a soft handkerchief from her pocket does he realize he is crying as well. He tries to say something, anything, but his mouth is trapped.

Carefully, she shifts them so she is kneeling above him. "There is nothing you can do or be that will ever make me stop loving you,” she declares. He cannot believe this could be true. When she finds out the full extent of the things he’s done, she will cast him aside. As she should.

“Come. You must rest a while. I do not know what tomorrow brings,” she says, urging him up and onto the cot. He goes because he is too weak not to take this tiny bit of comfort now while it is still available. He settles on his side, curled up. 

Frigga’s hand strokes his temple and back through his hair. “I will do my best with your fath -- with Odin. But his anger is great as is his temper. You two are quite alike that way.”

Loki shakes his head again. He does not want her interfering. Thor can handle being on the receiving end of Odin’s wrath, but he would not put her in it as well. Let Thor be the only whipping boy for once.

“Shhh. I will do as I please. You know that.” Leaning in, she kisses his forehead. “Sleep.”

She must have used a spell because the last thing he sees before his eyes close is his mother’s face.

*

The next day, he is brought before the court, some kind of opportunity for parole, for pardon, if he's only willing to kneel and grovel and beg. Thor is silent next to him as they enter the Great Hall. Sif and The Warriors are there, weapons gleaming to high shine. Loki thinks he would not be disappointed to end his life at the end of Sif’s sword. She is a fierce opponent and being his executioner would cement her as Asgard’s best, second only to Thor and his blasted hammer.

The All-Father sits on that damned throne, Frigga next to him. Loki wishes for the scepter. What would it be like to press the tip to Odin’s chest, invade his ancient mind and watch him bend to Loki’s every whim. It is a dark and dangerous wish, but Loki wants it all the same. For just a touch of the payback he is owed for Odin’s manipulations.

He is so wrapped up in those thoughts that he is surprised by Thor’s hand coming up to release the muzzle. “Hold your tongue, Loki. The Hall is drenched in Odin’s magic.”

"Well, Loki Odinson?" Odin’s voice is smooth and echoing. Loki wonders if the whole of Asgard can hear this. “You have caused chaos on three realms and it is only through the insistence of Thor that you were not left on Midgard and subject to their laws. Can you offer any explanation for your actions?”

Loki raises his chin, licks his chapped lips and smirks at Odin. 

"My name is Loki Laufeyson," he says, voice raspy. “We should use my real name now, should we not?”

Odin’s eye narrows and he leans forward in his throne. 

_Yes_ , Loki thinks to himself. _Strike me down for all to see and reveal the tyrant I know you to be._

Frigga’s hand stops him and her voice rings out across the murmurs in the hall, silencing everyone, "Loki Friggason."

Odin's head snaps so fast, but Frigga just sits there looking at him with flinty, hard eyes. "He is no more Laufey's son than he is yours. I raised him as my own and he will carry my name. I bear no shame for him."

Loki's hands are shaking and the restraints are clinking together. For once, he is at a loss for words. For a moment, just a moment, he wishes he could bow his head and accept her benediction. 

Thor steps up to stand beside him, a hand on his shoulder. Loki wants to shrug him off, but Frigga is watching them. "Pronounce your sentence, All-Father," Thor says. "Do not drag this out further."

Odin shakes off his wife’s hand and gets to his feet, Gungnir held tightly in his right hand. He comes halfway down the steps and looks Loki in the eyes. It is both exhilarating and terrifying. Loki stands his ground, does not look away.

“Loki Friggason,” he says, disdain dripping from his voice. “For your crimes and misdeeds against Asgard, Midgard, and Jotunheim, I bind your traitorous tongue. Without it to aid you, there will be no magic for you to perform, no mischief for you to create, and no lies for you to weave. You are restricted to your rooms under guard and will be allowed no visitors that I have not approved myself. If the time comes that I -- and I alone -- believe you have atoned for these crimes, I will unbind you.”

He bangs the staff on the stairs and points it at Loki. 

Searing, white hot pain explodes in his head and it is all he can do to stay on his feet. His mouth is burning and every stab of the spell makes his stomach roll. Somewhere, he hears Thor gasp and Frigga cry out, but he cannot worry about them. Loki concentrates on the pain now. It grounds him.

Another flash and the spell is ended. The pain is there still, aching and throbbing with every beat of his cold heart. Loki lifts his head and meets Odin’s eye once more.

“It is done,” he says, leaving the Hall. Sif and her minions follow him and the rest of the room clears but the guards. He feels Thor’s hand on his elbow.

“Follow me,” Frigga says.

She takes him back to her chambers, and washes the blood from his face, hands gentle and steady. There are herbs in the steaming water and they dull the pain somewhat.

"I will miss the silver laughter of your voice," she tells him, and somehow Loki had forgotten that she was the one who first called him Silvertongue, not in reference to tricks or lies but because she loved the way he sounded when he spoke, called it musical. 

He rests his head on her knee, worn out and undone, and Frigga combs her fingers through his hair and hums a lullaby full of healing magics, and for the first time in a long time, he feels safe and warm and **home**.

When he goes back to his own rooms -- under heavy guard, because even without magic, he is lethal -- he finds they have been stripped of all things magic related. Instinct makes him start to cry out, but it pulls on the stitches and he drops to his knees from the pain of that. He's still there when there's a voice behind him.

"They were not destroyed. I would not allow it." Thor's voice is hoarse and Loki wants to laugh bitterly at the idea of Thor with his books and scrolls and scales. "They will be returned to you. You have my word."

Loki balls up his fists on his knees and refuses to cry. He gets to his feet and turns to look at Thor. He nods and for once, Thor does not try to push. "There is much to be done here, but I would like to spend time with you. I think there are some things that are out of my realm of knowledge and if you are willing to give your assistance, I would be grateful."

If he could, he would wrap his fingers around Thor's throat and squeeze until he was gasping for breath, he is so angry. But Frigga's face, her voice, makes him let out a long breath before he nods at Thor.

Frigga comes to him every night, sings a healing song and strokes his hair until he sleeps. She is still there every morning, because he cannot feed, cannot drink, and only her magics sustain him. During the day she must attend to her duties, and it is then Thor appears, with books and questions, and Loki is rarely left alone with his thoughts and his rage. 

He does what he can, writing pages and pages of notes in his neat hand to help Thor figure out complicated treaties and to assist in Asgard's part in repairing the Bifrost. He's not allowed near it, but that is quite alright with him. It makes him think of the encompassing, desolate blackness between realms that he fell through for what he thought was centuries.

One afternoon, Thor bursts into his rooms with a bright, wild grin. Loki sighs. That look usually means a war or a mighty quest. At least this time he will not be dragged along. 

"Jane is here. She has brought Darcy with her. Heimdall was able to make a brief connection to Midgard to reach them. The Bifrost will be repaired soon, my brother. Jane will understand your equations more quickly than I do."

That night when Frigga comes to him, he weeps. It is weak and horrible, but he cannot help it.

"Shh," she says, reaching for a bowl. "You must never reveal what I am about to do." She holds her hands over his mouth and whispers something so fast and so quiet that he cannot make it out. There is a sudden release of pressure and the stitches are loosened. "I cannot remove them -- Odin's magic is strong. But I can do this much, at least for a short while." She brings the bowl to his lips and tips it forward slowly. The water is sweet and cool and the best thing Loki has ever tasted.

Loki is not supposed to see the humans. He is not supposed to see anyone. Frigga and Thor may choose to disobey Odin, but no one else would -- or could. But the stitches are loosened enough that he can send forth a shadow of himself, invisible, fragile as dust, to observe them at their meal. The one named Jane is wholly absorbed by his brother and her work, but the other, she looks around with bright eyes, taking everything in. She talks to Frigga, to Sif, but always scanning the room.

She does not look comfortable here, and Loki cannot help but wonder why she came.  
It is mid-afternoon when Frigga comes into his rooms, whipping the door shut. "Odin has called for you. Drink, and quickly. I must repair the stitches before they come for you or we will both suffer."

The noise he makes is as much of the word "Mother" as he can voice and Frigga touches his face. "Please, drink. Thor will be here soon enough." He does it, pouring the water as slowly as he dares and swallowing until his stomach aches. She leads him to the long couch near the windows and cups his face. "Close your eyes." He does it, her hand covers his mouth and the stitches repair themselves, forcing his lips together, jaw aching. There is blood and Frigga wipes it away carefully. "I believe he is summoning you about the Bifrost. Do not anger him, Loki."

Something flashes in his eyes that she recognizes, because she kisses his forehead. "I know, my love. But he is powerful, and for now, we are not. Please, for my sake."

For her sake he would endure anything, so when Thor arrives, Loki follows him meekly, doesn't chafe under Thor's hand on his back, guiding him as though he were a woman or a child. As though women need guidance, when Frigga is the wisest person he has ever known.

And then they are in the throne room, where the Asgardians cross their arms and stare, stone-faced, or shudder at the Jotun in their midst, and the All-Father stands waiting, the humans at his side. Odin starts to talk, while Jane is bent over her notes, but Darcy looks up, sees him, and actually _interrupts_ , "Oh, HELL no."

She's across the room fast, faster than he would have given her credit for, and slaps him **hard** , the heel of her hand catching the still raw stitches.

"Darcy!" Jane calls out.

"That's for Erik," she says, hand winding up for another strike when Thor catches her arm. "Hey, let go."

"Lady Darcy, I cannot allow to you strike my brother again. He is being punished according to the decree of my father."

"Thor," she starts and a drop of blood hits the marble floor at his feet. Ah. She must have reopened the wounds. "I --"

Sif steps out of the shadowed doorway. "Lady Darcy. Will you come with me to the training grounds? Fandral promised me a rematch and I think we have found a sword that will fit your stature." 

Darcy looks at him again, eyes fiery, before pulling her hand from Thor's grip. "Sure. Jane, will you be all right?"

"I'll be fine," Jane says, though Loki cannot be the only person to read horror in her eyes. He wants to sneer, to tear Darcy limb from limb for daring to touch him, to do the same to Jane for her _pity_. But he is mindful of his mother's words, mindful of Odin's eye. He stays where he is, silent and bleeding, and stares at the floor so he doesn't have to look at them and know what they are thinking.

"Come," Odin says at last. "We have need of your brain."

Loki wants to laugh, wants to cry, wants to know when they have ever valued anything from a Jotun other than his hide. He steps forward, looks at Jane's calculations, pretends that every nerve isn't raw and screaming, that this is not the last place in the universe he wants to be, the last people he wishes to be with.

He waits for their questions, ready to be a good Loki, a helpful Loki, a penitent Loki. And then Janes asks her first question, and it is not at all what he expected.

"Do you have bandages, Thor?"

"Are you hurt?" Thor asks.

Jane rolls her eyes at him and Loki wishes he could properly smile. "No. But your **brother** is bleeding." She takes a half step between him and Odin and waits for him to look her in the eye. 

"I'm sorry. Darcy's a little...impulsive. She and Erik are close."

Loki can do nothing but nod his head. Where had Thor stumbled upon this woman of all women? It speaks yet again to his extraordinary luck and Loki quells the urge to strike him once again.

"Here," Thor says, holding out a damp cloth. Loki takes it before Jane can and wipes his chin. Holding it to the side of his mouth, he waves to the notes spread over the table.

Jane studies him for a moment, but doesn't argue. "Right. I'm not sure how these translate from Earth to here. Thor thinks you might know."

He is tempted to lie, to say he doesn't, to go back and hide in his prison. If humans can build their own Bifrost, they can come here at will and laugh at him, point at him, the Jotun can demand their revenge for regicide, patricide, Odin can banish him there, back to his own race of monsters, the doors to Asgard will be open and Heimdall can only control their own end. Doors open from both sides.

He is tempted, but this woman got him a cloth, _apologized_ , and no one, no one has apologized to Loki since he was first declared a man instead of a child. (He is neither, but no one has apologized for that, either.)

He takes up a pen and begins to write.

They work, passing pages back and forth until Loki looks up and realizes the sky is the blue gray of twilight. Odin has sat in the room the whole time, reading something, but never interrupting. Once Thor lingered, leaning over Jane's shoulder and she snapped, pushing him away.

"I can't think when you loom. Go find the Warriors and Darcy. I'm fine."

Thor looked appropriately shamed and glanced at Loki. "I will leave you in Loki's hands then. Dinner will be in the Main Hall." He pressed a light kiss to her mouth and clapped Loki's shoulder as he passed, nodding to Odin.

The doors open and his guards are there. Odin calls them in and Loki stands, giving his pen back to Jane.

"Thank you," she says. "I guess we won't see you at dinner." She makes an awkward gesture to his mouth and he inclines his head. Looking around him to Odin, she says, "We've made a lot of progress. I'd like to keep working together, if Loki is willing."

He laughs in his head. As if he has any choices here. Odin could order his killing right here in front of Jane, if he wished it.

"He will be," Odin says. Jane frowns, but turns back to her papers, which is probably for the best. When Midgard has its own Bifrost she can come and go as she pleases, but until then she is here by the grace of Odin, and it is in his graces she must stay.

When his door opens after dinner, he thinks for a moment that Frigga is early, but it is Thor, with Jane and an unhappy looking Darcy following. They stand in silence, staring at each other, and then Jane shoves Darcy towards him. "Go on then."

Darcy turns her head and scowls at Jane, but tells Loki nonetheless, "I apologize for ripping your stitches."

He inclines his head, and it is then she squints, and seems to realize -- "Those aren't from an injury, are they? Oh my God, Thor, did your father _sew his lips shut_? That is just. That is -- I think I'm going to be sick. What the fuck is wrong with you people?" She rounds on Thor, and Loki has no idea what to do with any of this. "You, sir, come from a race of -- no wonder he thought _mind control_ was a viable option, this is _sick_ and _twisted_ , you are sending me home _immediately_ do you understand me?"

"Darcy," Jane says, grabbing her arm and pulling her further into the room. Thor closes the door. He's not entirely sure how this will play out. Pity, he expects. But Loki doesn't understand this creature's righteous indignation on his behalf. 

"Darcy, you must understand. This...punishment is less than what my father had intended. Loki must answer for his crimes not just on Midgard, but also those committed on Asgard as well."  
Thor, he notes, has at least the decency to look a bit ashamed. "It could have been much worse."

"Like what? Killing him?" Darcy says.

"Death would have been a relief, if Odin had laid down his original sentence." 

Frigga is there now, still in her formal gown. She has slipped in silently and he wonders how long she has been listening in the shadows. Usually, she comes to him in her day garments that still smell of wool and dye from the weaving rooms. "I will not share that plan with you, as I do not believe it would make you think more highly of us."

"Your Highness, I'm so sorry," Jane says. "It's just, well, I think maybe we thought things were a little more progressive here than on Earth."

God, does he wish he could laugh now. Midgardians would die of fright if they knew what the All-Father was capable of. Darcy, he realizes, is looking at him now. "How does he eat? Or drink? Won't he just waste away? That's..." Her speech trails off and she rocks on her heels. Loki steps forward to steady her before she collapses.

Frigga glances at Thor, but Loki shakes his head. 

"There are -- you would call them apple trees" Frigga says instead. "As long as he partakes of their bounty once a year, he will live for a very long time."

Darcy stares at her, then Thor, then turns to Loki, who still has a hand on her shoulder. "I apologize in advance for my language, but your family is seriously fucked up, dude."

He cannot help laughing, even through the stitches. It catches in his throat, wild and painful and this time it is Darcy who steadies him, before he is driven to his knees. 

"You still did a shitty thing to Erik, but, well, I shouldn't have smacked you," she says. Her hand is warm on his wrist and he doesn't... Loki forces his body to right itself and he takes a step back.

"I would ask that you do not leave us prematurely," Frigga says. "It would displease Odin," Loki cannot be the only one who can read the look of mischief on her face. "And it would be good for us all to have visitors here. To remind us of our manners and actions."

"Lady Darcy?" Thor asks. 

Darcy looks at him again. "All right, I'll stay."

They leave then, everyone but Frigga, and Loki lets himself collapse against her when the door has closed.

"My baby," she croons, loosening the threads again, brushing a healing salve over his lips. 

When Loki was still young enough not to see embarrassment in wearing women's clothes in order to learn their magics, young enough to have eyes only for Thor and for Odin, when he was still his mother's child, and Thor a strapping youth with a hammer already at his side, Thor came to him one day, troubled, and told him of the mockery in court, on the training grounds, told him that if he wanted to be a man he must pick up a weapon, and learn to fight as men do. He would never be strong enough for something like Mjolnir, but he might learn a spear, might attain some small level of glory, if he tried.

He wonders what would have been different, if anything, had he chosen to stay by his mother's side. His mother, who did not mock him, or fear him, or call him monster.

"Drink," Frigga says, and Loki lets her succor him, nourish him, as though he were still the babe she took from Odin's arms.

He does not remember falling asleep, but he wakes in bed. His lips are raw and sore, but for the first time in weeks, months, he does not wake up starving, throat aching and dry. If Odin calls for him today, the stitches will need to be re-tightened and his stomach twists.

When Frigga does not come by noontime, he thinks he will be spared. Closing his eyes, he releases his shadow into the palace. Thor's horse is gone and Jane is nowhere he can sense. That would explain Odin's silence. When he passes by the weaving room, he is surprised to see Darcy sitting at his mother's table. There is a long tapestry there and Frigga is narrating it for her. Something makes her smile and her face lights up.

Loki gasps, the shadow slamming back into his body like a punch. He has pulled against the stitches -- oh, how he longs to cut them, but after trying the first night and slicing his mouth to shreds, he does not dare it again.

Cautiously, he sends his shadow out again, but this time through the palace, out, past Heimdall, to the edge of the Bifrost. The stars and the void wink at him between the branches of Yggdrasil, call to him, always. Some day he will be theirs again, but that day is not now, and if the threads serve any purpose it is to anchor him, to remind him that his real body is in a room in Asgard, safe from the falling, the nothingness, from Him. 

How little Frigga knew the truth she spoke when she told the humans death would be a blessing. 

There is a knock, and he pulls his shadow back, prepared for the shock this time. He expects his mother, but sees Darcy instead. When he turns, he covers his mouth with the back of his hand.

She is cautious, her face masking the fear in her steps. He should not feel a tingle of relief that someone might not think he was weak, less than. Humans are such fragile things. Nearing him, she holds out a small jar.

"Your mother asked me to bring this to you. One of the girls in the kitchen, her water broke and she went to help," Darcy explains. It is the salve. Not as good as Frigga's touch, her steady voice, but better than nothing at all until nightfall. He nods his thanks, hand still up.

"She was telling me about you. And Thor. When you were little boys and you went to try and climb the apple trees."

The corners of his mouth tug against his will and he hisses. Darcy though, doesn't jump away. She reaches for the jar instead. "It hurts right? Here." She unscrews the lid and the cool, herbal smell washes over him. He leans forward to take it and that is when she inhales sharply. 

His mouth is uncovered and she can see how Odin's thick, coarse, black thread stretches criss-cross over his lips, his famed silver tongue jailed.

"Oh my God," she whispers, coming closer with the jar, sitting next to him. The shock must be clear on his face.

Her touch, when it comes, is so gentle it stings. "Fucked. Up," she says, and then she embraces him, tightly, and Loki freezes, has no idea what to do. The last time anyone but Frigga held him, he was -- actually, he cannot remember the last time. It might have been Thor, when he made it to the top of the trees and Loki, always trying to follow him, slipped on a high branch and fell. 

His life in a nutshell.

Darcy pulls back after a minute, but there are tears on her face, and instead of handing him the salve she applies it herself, her soft fingers a stark contrast to her voice as she enumerates everything that is wrong with the world he grew up in.

Her hands are smaller than his and she is able to get the salve between the stitches neatly. Loki hold himself as still as he can. To let her see his hands tremble would be a sign of weakness that he could not forgive himself. When she is satisfied, she sits back. Loki holds out his handkerchief and she looks confused. He puts it in her hand without making contact.

"Oh. Right," she says, wiping her fingers. "I don't remember those being as loose last night. But Frigga didn't seem worried about you, so I'm just going to pretend like I didn't notice." He holds his hand up, in gesture for her to stay, and goes to his desk for paper and pencil.

_For my mother's sake, you must not tell anyone. Not Jane, not Thor, no one._

"I wouldn't. I won't."

For some reason he believes her. At the very least, he believes she means his mother no harm. It is for this reason, and this reason only, that after erasing the note he turns it into a flower and hands it to her.

She must not change her mind. For Frigga's sake. 

She holds the flower in the palm of her hand carefully. Her nails are short and painted blood red. 

Loki can sense her unease and he moves away from her. He is used to having people discomfited in his presence.

"Can -- can I say something? It seems unfair, since you can't tell me shut up and I don't think you can curse me or like, turn me into a frog or anything right now."

Loki could, but he will not. So he nods.

"You're not gonna want to hear this and you probably won't believe me, but Thor? He really does love you. I don't really get the whole Frost Giants versus Asgard grudge match, but whatever that is, he doesn't care about it when it comes to you. The first night we were here, he was giving us the tour and every other sentence had your name in it."

He wishes he could scream, howl in anguish. She is right -- this is something he would rather not hear. Darcy looks at him and very slowly, slow enough that even a human could stop her, touches the back of his hand. "I understand why you're angry. Maybe not quite on the same epic scale, but I get it. Your dad lied to you. He pulled your mom into it and she tried to do right by you. But Thor, he really didn't know. Older siblings suck. But he wants to -- I don't know -- figure out a way to fix this. For you and for Frigga and for him. You don't have like him, but you do have to love him. He's your family."

He doesn't have family.

Except. Except he has Frigga, who wouldn't leave his side if her other duties, her husband, didn't demand it. Frigga who comes to him every day and loosens his bonds and heals him as much as she dares and sings to him and mothers him. He has Frigga's love, and Odin's hatred, and Thor's... what?

He can never tell, really. Thor is an open book in so many ways, but it is not one he can read without struggle. When they were young, Thor would teach him and hurt him, goad him into climbing farther, higher, praise him if he did and comfort him if he fell. Thor would mock his skills on the practice courts, and pound a beating on anyone else who did. Is that love? Or is it merely possession, jealousy, a princeling who never learned to share?

He has spent his entire life in the shadows cast by his brother, striving for the light. His own light.

Is that love? Or merely sentiment? Sensibility? Overwrought emotions?

He fell, oh how he fell, savoring the look on his brother's face, guarding it through the stars and the void and Him. And Thor, whom he had killed, dethroned, robbed of glory, Thor mourned him.

Is that love?

"Loki?" Darcy's hand curls around his and he snatches it away before the warmth of her skin can scald him, getting to his feet. She startles, but she doesn't retreat as she likely should. Odin, the guards outside, everyone here believes he is nothing without his magic, but if he wanted he could snap her neck cleanly and leave her body on the threshold of Thor's rooms as a bloodless sacrifice. It would serve all of them right. 

"You kind of zoned out there."

He takes up the pencil and paper again.

_I find I get caught in my thoughts quite often these days. You should go back to Frigga or seek out Sif. It would not please Odin to know you have been alone with me so long. It would not please Sif either._

Darcy actually laughs at his warning. "Yeah, you're right about that." She stands, smoothing and adjusting her garments. "I can come back though, if you want. I'll come with Frigga if that'll make you feel better about it."

He doesn't understand the pang in his chest at her offer, so he shrugs.

After that Darcy becomes a regular visitor, both with and without Frigga's presence. She tells him about Midgard -- Earth -- about her childhood and her friends. She even speaks of Selvig, unflinchingly, though when he explains he does not understand her anger, that the scepter was a gift, she stalks out and does not return for a day and a half.

She tells him that humans would rather have free minds. They would rather have death and poverty and disease and still be free in their minds and their hearts to make their own choices.

He still does not understand.

He tells her in all his years, so many more years than any human could hope to achieve and so few for Asgard -- or Jotunheim -- he has seen death only once off the battlefield. A baby, too young for the harvest, dead before he could be gifted with the same long life that graces all of them.

He has never seen disease, or poverty. Not on Asgard. Not anywhere in all the Nine Realms, but Earth. Only humans, with their short lives, over in the blink of an eye, treat their own so cruelly.

He does not understand.

"Let me explain," Darcy says, and Loki, who has always wanted to learn, to know, bends his ear and listens.

"It's like this -- I think that most people on Earth believe there's something out there, something divine that's watching over us. What or who that is is sort of irrelevant. But you're right -- we don't have powers, we don't have immortality. All we have is eighty--something years to live our lives to the best of our abilities. Our greatest asset is our right to choose. I can choose if I want oatmeal for breakfast or if I want to step in front of a bus or if I want to give all my money to the homeless guy in the train station. But even if I'm broke and homeless and alone, I still have my choice, my will to decide. It must seem really...insignificant to you, but it's what we have. It's what makes us, well, human, I guess."

She is looking out his window, the horizons of Asgard lit pink and gold in the afternoon. Her cheek is pale as marble and without thinking, he reaches out to touch it. He is surprised to find it's warm and damp. Instantly, she shies away, wiping at her face. 

"Sorry. I guess my emotions are a little whacked out. And I'm a little homesick, I think."

He feels the need to comfort her. It is so alien to that he doesn't really know how to begin. Frigga would draw him into her lap, sing to him. He gets up and finds the little box in his wardrobe, winding the key. When he sits back down, he opens the lid and a quiet melody begins to play. It would not be appropriate to hold her as Frigga holds him, so he carefully wraps his arm around her shoulder. Darcy leans in on her own, laying her head on his shoulder.  
Loki has been many things. A prince. A king. A brother. A monster. A son. He has never been free, not the way the humans seem to mean it. His magic is growing stronger, though. Every morning, before Frigga comes, he tests the threads. They cut him still, but a little less, every day. A long, painful process, that leaves him wanting to gasp, to moan, but every day he pushes farther, and every time Frigga tightens them before he is called to the throne room, loosens them after, every time it weakens them a little more. He wonders if she knows.

He wonders if she will kiss him when he leaves. 

He wonders if he will enjoy the kind of freedom Darcy describes.

He recognizes Frigga's touch on his shoulder. Opening his eyes, he finds that he has fallen asleep. Darcy is also sleeping, her legs curled underneath her and her head on his chest, dark hair spilling over her shoulders. It is too vulnerable and too familiar. She should not be punished for it and Odin would surely not allow her to continue if he found out.

"Shh," Frigga says, stilling his panic. "She is strong. And brave." 

Loki shakes his head. His mother is meddling and he cannot allow it. Whatever she is thinking, it will never come to fruition. His plans do not -- cannot -- include anyone aside from himself. He slides out from under Darcy, lets her lie down, and steps away, towards the window. Let Frigga wake her. He has no desire to see what she looks like, curled on his bed, just starting to stir.

He knows how this will end, how it must end. She will return to Earth, leave him, and he cannot promise he will ever see her again. Cannot afford to keep such vows, were he ever foolish enough to make them.

She would never choose him over Jane and Thor, in any event. Why ask for what he cannot have? When has that ever gained him anything?

"You still think I do not know you at all, don't you?" Frigga asks, coming to stand with him. "Not being able to use words to shield them has made your eyes more expressive than ever." He makes a strangled noise of protest and she tucks her hand into the crook of his elbow. "A mother knows these things."

There is no space in his plans for someone else. Feelings are foolish and nothing that he can ever afford again. Not to mention that it would make her a target for his enemies. Odin does not know that Thor has been working on a plan for defending Asgard and Midgard for when Thanos enacts his plan for revenge. There is no question of if, only when,

"Love is no weakness," Frigga says. "You can only see its flaws, but it **can** make you stronger. It can give you something to fight for, something to come back to at the end of the battle."

Has he not fought for Odin's love, for Thor's? His entire life, he has fought for Odin's love, his approval. It is folly, and he will not do it again.

"Come back to **me** ," Frigga whispers in his hair. Ah. That is something different.

He wishes she had not asked it of him. Not that there has ever been much point in wishing.

Loki closes his eyes, leans against his mother, and pretends he means it when he nods. Frigga, bless her a thousand times, pretends to believe him.

It is better so.

There is a creak behind them and Loki turns to see Darcy sitting up, rubbing her eyes. "Didn't mean to crash out on you. I haven't been sleeping much lately."

Frigga's brow tightens. "Are you unwell?"

"Nah, it's just Jane. She's sort of an insomniac and with all the work she's been doing, it takes awhile for her to wind down. I'm used to it though. No worries." She gets to her feet and twists her hair back away from her face. "I'll leave you guys alone for a while." Loki makes a decision and later, he will see that it was his first choice.

_Will you come back after dinner? If you cannot sleep?_

Darcy blinks at the scrap of paper. "Sure. But I thought they locked you in?" 

Frigga is very pointedly looking out the window. He concentrates, hoping the stitches will not bungle his intentions. In her hand, the paper transforms into a key.

Darcy takes out a ring of keys, and adds it. "This way, no one will notice." She leans up on her toes, kisses his cheek and then Frigga's.

"See you later."

He does not look at his mother, nor does he watch the door when the guards shut it behind Darcy. He has acted rashly, and he needs to think.

"You will need her." Frigga gives him an unreadable smile. "I cannot say more."

Loki frowns, pulling the stitches. He loathes prophecies, more so when he is sure his mother knows far more than she is revealing. If has been foretold, then it is no choice of his at all.

"Do not look like that. You know nothing is true until one of us makes it so. What I have seen could have been anyone. I had hoped...I had hoped it meant you might forgive your brother. But I think that is too much to ask." She beckons him back to her side. "Come, sit with me. My ladies have been whispering tales and I think it would please you to hear that Fandral, while showing off, was thrown from his horse and went face down in the mud."

He cannot help but make the half-gargled sound of amusement that passes for laughter, while the threads still bind his mouth. Frigga smiles, satisfied, and Loki lets her distract him until she is called to banquet hall. Then, when she is gone, he works his magic, pressing against the stitches as much as he dares. The humans will not remain much longer, not if Jane maintains her current speed of work. If he needs Darcy, he must hurry.

He does not delude himself into thinking she'll continue to worry, when she is back amongst her family, in her world.

It is late when he hears the scrape of the key in the lock. He leaves his work out on the table. She will need to know of it soon enough. 

"Hi." She is wearing what he knows are sleeping clothes in Midgard and her feet are bare. Vulnerable, he thinks. Trusting. "This place is really confusing at night. I got a little lost."

He nods, smiling as far as he can without pain. It must look like a horrifying grimace, but she does not demur. She wanders to his bookcase. It's pitifully thin since it was stripped of the magical texts, but there are books from when he was young, stories of warriors and quests throughout the Nine Realms. 

"When I was little, my mom used to read to me at night," she says, picking a book at random. "Her voice was nice, soothing."

_I used to be a storyteller. Silvertongue was not always because of deception. My mother insists it is my own way of weaving without silken threads._

Darcy laughs. "I can see that."

It is because of her laughter, laughter not aimed at him, but for him, that he risks his most daring spell yet. He throws his voice into the book, and softly, so the guards cannot hear, the words read themselves.

Darcy curls up next to him, heedless of the danger this places her in. After a minute, she leans into him, and he does not push her away.

It is for his plans, of course. She is necessary.

*

_Loki is falling. The icy black of the space between the realms is tearing at his clothes, his skin. He cannot breathe, he cannot think to call his magic to slow himself. But his mouth is free. He can scream._

_When he lands, he feels his bones shatter and re-knit themselves together. There is laughter near him, laughter that curdles his blood and makes him taste bile. When he can force his head to turn, he sees Thanos. His horrible face is twisted into a smile. "Worse than death, little liar. I don't forget my promises." He points and Loki struggles to sit up. When he manages it, he wishes he had not._

_It is his mother. She is strung up on her loom, drenched in blood._

_It is Thor, gasping for breath where his hammer presses into his throat, lips blue and frost bitten._

_"I saved this for last," Thanos says, revealing Darcy in her sleep clothes, her lips bloody and sewn raggedly shut. She is terrified, but he can hear her saying his name._

_"Loki," she calls, "Loki."_

He sucks in a breath and wakes up. Darcy's wrist is in his hand and she makes a noise of pain. Immediately, he releases her and scrambles away, back toward the far side of the bed. "You were having a nightmare. I think."

He can't deny it. Even Thor would see that for a lie. But he can lie with the truth. He can nod, and tell her it was a bad dream and she will believe it was only a bad dream.

Only Loki and Thanos will know the truth.

That gives him power, and time. A chance to work, to plan, because Thanos will want to make him suffer, make him wait. It also gives him armor. His mother said he would need Darcy; she didn't say he had to _care_.

 _Liar_. A traitorous voice hisses in the back of his mind. He doesn't have to care, but the sick feeling in his gut tells him that he already does.

Darcy shifts, one hand open on the bed. Reaching toward him. "C'mere," she says softly. When he takes her hand, she pulls at him until his head is in her lap. It is nothing like when he has sat with his mother like this. Her fingers touch his face. "You were crying."

He gestures towards his mouth, indicates the threads were hurting. Darcy doesn't say anything, though he's not certain she believes him. Still, her fingers threading through his hair are soothing.

The book she was reading fell to the floor when she woke him, but his voice continues, talking without his will, without his permission. He must remember to break the spell before morning, or the guards will hear when Frigga comes to wake him.

The next morning, Frigga looks at him smugly. When he tries to glare at her, she laughs at him. "Your glower does not frighten me.". She has brought him new clothes, finely woven in black, green, and accented with gold. That does not bode well.

"Your brother will be taking you and Jane to see Heimdall. There has been progress and she has asked that you be present."

He shakes his head vigorously. His humiliation does not need to be paraded through Asgard to the Observatory.

Frigga looks at him gently. "It is Odin's decree. Sif and the Warriors will be in the rear guard. I was going to request Darcy's assistance, but I think she might be of better use going with you."

He shakes his head again. If Odin has decreed it, he will go, but he would not have Darcy witness his disgrace.

Frigga smooths his hair back from his forehead, presses a kiss there. "Oh, my stubborn darling. I will look after Darcy, and trust Thor to look after you."

He wants to turn away at that; he doesn't need Thor's protection, or presence. But Frigga's lips are warm against his skin, and her voice is gentle. He would not hurt her any more than necessary.

He has already bathed, so after he is dressed, Frigga tightens his stitches and brushes them with the salve. "I will tell you the same thing I did when you were a boy -- do not be baited by cheap taunts. Their words mean nothing."

Frigga is right. Fandral, Sif, their words are meaningless. They could only hurt him with their weapons. But his words are not and it is entirely why he hates Odin's punishment.

"Here," she says, unfurling a long, dark cloak. "The hood should hide your face if you wish it. And it will be warm enough for the ride." Loki puts it on and allows Frigga to fuss, smoothing it over his shoulders and clasping in at his neck. "Will you allow me to escort you?"

He offers her his arm and the guards stay two paces behind them to the front doors of the palace.

It feels as though all of Asgard has poured forth to watch this, the fallen prince, the Jotun in their midst, captured and bound, paraded before them. They say nothing in front of their queen, but as soon as the doors have closed the whispers start. Thor clasps a hand on his shoulder, and everything in Loki screams to pull away.

It would not be taken as pride, but as escape. 

He doesn't so much as twitch, and Thor flashes him a smile, open and golden and full of hope.

Thor always was the first to trust him. It can only help Loki's plans if he continues to do so.

"Hey," Darcy says, appearing at his side. "I hear we're taking horses and I had a really traumatic incident when I was eleven. Can I hitch a ride with you?"

"Lady Darcy, I have room for you on my horse," Fandral offers.

To Loki's great delight, Darcy laughs in his face. "Didn't you faceplant in the mud yesterday? No thanks."

His horse is saddled and Loki swings up on her, reaching down to help Darcy up behind him. Her arms wrap around his waist.

The ride to Heimdall is short and eternal. Darcy is clearly not used to horseback, tightens her arms at every jolt. At the same time, he is surrounded by those who take joy in his humiliation.

Thor, with Jane behind him, pulls up even with him, blocking those on his right from view.

He wants to scream.

Jane, to her credit, shoots him a small smile of comfort. Her mind is sharp and while he will never understand what she sees in Thor, he understands what Thor sees in her. She isn't afraid to challenge him. Loudly, if necessary. 

He is pulled back from his thoughts as they arrive at the Observatory. Heimdall is standing in the entrance and Loki can see where the bridge is struggling to rebuild itself on the Jotunheim side. Its glow is sickly and faint and he is hit again with the feeling of the inky blackness tearing at him as he falls. One of Darcy's hands finds his wrist and she presses her thumb to his pulse.

"Don't panic. I don't want to end up taking a swan dive off the edge."

He forces his breathing to slow, his heart rate to follow. He will not appear any weaker than he has to.

Heimdall turns his head, eyes searing through Loki, and he straightens without realizing it.

There is much he cannot control, just now (or ever), much his illusions cannot cover. The others hate him, mock him, fear him. Heimdall _sees_ him.

It is terrifying.

It is exhilarating.

He turns his gaze on the rest of their party. "I will not allow weapons inside at this time. The Lady Sif and her companions shall wait outside."

"Heimdall," Sif protests, but Thor silences her.

"Sif, we will respect Heimdall's wishes. Nothing will go amiss." He dismounts and helps Jane down. Loki does the same, landing gracefully. Grasping Darcy's waist, he sets her on her feet, catching her elbow when she is momentarily unsteady. Odin is watching him and Loki does not drop his eyes to the ground. It must be made clear he means Darcy no harm.

They follow Heimdall into the Bifrost, while Odin stands at the door, spear in hand. The others remain outside, but Loki can hear their grumbling, if Thor cannot.

They have never liked him, and will never trust him again.

He can use that.

Darcy looks around, lets Thor talk to her in an low undertone, explaining the room, while Jane and Loki draw closer to Heimdall. Jane has brought paper and pens, and Loki is prepared to answer all questions honestly. It is fortunate that he can lie with the truth, as well as with falsehoods. He can stand before Heimdall, straight, tall, and answer truthfully, and Heimdall, who sees everything, sees Loki, and will see that he does not lie.

He can use this, too.

"I think that with these calculations and the help of some kind of...well, the closest thing I could compare it to is a sort of charger, like with a battery," Jane says, laying out the schematics that she has been working on with Loki's input. "If I can construct it, attach it here to where you open the bridges, your magic should amplify it enough to remake the connection. I don't know how strong it'll be or if if can ever be removed, but it's a start."

Heimdall studies her and Loki watches Jane force herself to be still. It is never easy to have him search you for the truth. He gaze swings to Loki. "And you, Loki? You have had a hand in these plans. They are sound but how do I know that you have not sabotaged them without Lady Jane knowing it? She is not of this realm and therefore will not have a clear understanding of how it works."

Loki produces a pencil from his cloak. He can feel the weight of the room pressed on his shoulders.

_Because I know what lies beyond the Bifrost. I do not wish to return there. Jane has done nothing to make me wish her harm or humiliation._

Heimdall looks at him, looks through him, inside him, and Loki wants to hide in the shadows, to scream, to not lay himself completely bare.

But the only way through is to lay everything open, to share his fear, his pain, Him, and then, perhaps, if Loki is very lucky, Heimdall will not see what he _has_ hidden. Or will not care.

There are greater threats to Asgard than Loki, after all. Loki who would never set foot here again, except for his mother's presence. 

Either way, Heimdall nods, and it is only the discipline he was taught as a boy, as a prince, that keeps him upright and straight.

"My Lord," Heimdall calls, and when Odin steps into the chamber, eye flicking from one of them to the other, Heimdall tells him, "the Tesseract, my Lord."

At that word, something sick slides down Loki's spine. It will be like a beacon to Thanos. He will bring an army to Asgard and destroy everything in his path until it is in his possession. Loki can only hope that he can remove himself and Frigga from this place before it happens.

"It is in the vaults. When Lady Jane has finished her construction, I will bring it forth. I will not risk it before then," Odin says. "It is time to return." He turns on his heel and strides out.

"I look forward to seeing you again, Lady Jane," Heimdall says, tipping his head.

Loki is the last to leave, tries desperately to catch Heimdall's eyes before he goes.

He even risks making a small noise, in the back of this throat, before following Darcy outside to the horses. "What is it?" she whispers, but he doesn't answer, cannot answer, not yet. As they ride off, in procession, he risks one glance backwards, though it means letting the guards see his face, his punishment.

He looks back, cannot help himself in this, hates himself for the weakness of needing to look, hates himself more for the relief he feels when Heimdall, tall and silent, meets his glance.  
Heimdall nods.

Loki straightens again, turns his back, and begins to pull the pieces of himself back into something resembling order.

When they arrive back at the palace, he doesn't expect Darcy to follow him. "You can take me to your mom's weaving room, right? She asked me to come by when I had some free time." 

Neither Thor or Jane seem surprised by this request, so Frigga must have asked Darcy in front of them. She has a head for subtle tactics that he has to admire.

Loki nods and stifles his surprise when Darcy takes his arm. Fandral makes a noise of protest and Sif takes a half step forward before Thor intervenes. It makes Loki's blood boil that Thor still must do that, protect him. But it is not a battle he wishes to fight. For now.

It doesn't occur to him to question why Thor _would_ protect him; Thor has always done so.

Anyone may mock him, but only Thor has ever laid a hand on him outside the practice courts. Well. Thor and Odin. 

"C'mon," Darcy says, moving in the direction they are meant to be going in. She must know very well how to get to Frigga's work room. "The observatory is awesome, but kind of terrifying. I'm glad it's not my job to hang out there for eternity." She pushes the cloak she's wearing back and when he looks down, his key is now dangling from a length of silk cord tied around her neck.

He does not understand her. Or why she has decided he is a suitable companion. Before her, only Thor had ever really sought him out and that ended up bringing him nothing but pain, heartbreak, and this burning rage that he does not think he can ever fully tamp out.  
He follows her, and Thor follows him, half a step behind. His silent, looming shadow.

Well.

Let Thor be the one in the dark, for once.

Frigga looks up when they reach her workroom, and the smile on her face is breathless. Then Loki closes the door in Thor's face, and if her joy dims a little, he cannot help it. She can have one of her sons, but not both of them, he cannot give her that. Not yet. Perhaps not ever.

Even so, she rises, takes his hands, and checks under her lashes to see if he is injured.  
"How did you find your trip, Darcy?" Frigga asks, still looking at him.

"Good. Still not a fan of horseback. Maybe you guys should build a tram or something to go out there though," she says, shedding her cloak and hanging it near the door. It's then that Loki can finally see the knife sheaths at her waist. Frigga smiles at him secretively. Whatever she is plotting, he needs to know it soon. 

"Heimdall would not like that at all. The noise." Turning away from him, she goes back to her loom. "Come, we can work on your stitching today. Loki, I found something that you might like to read, if you'd like to stay."

Frigga is his mother, has always been his mother, first and foremost, and when not his mother, his queen.

He forgets, sometimes (more fool him!) that she is also herself, an individual in her own right, with her own knowledge and schemes and secrets.

If she has found a book for him, it can only be to his advantage to read it. If she has given Darcy knives, and lessons in weaving, she must have a reason for that, as well. It is her burden to know the future and never say what must come to pass, but it is also her burden to have sons. She will let them know what she can, in her own way, if only they will listen. His eyes drop to the book in his hands.

Or read.

It is a book of myths. Ancient stories his mother used to read to him and Thor when they were boys. But this book is much older than the one Loki remembers, the pages thin as oilskin and each story written in a tiny, precise hand. The gold stamping on the cover flakes as he touches it. There is one marked and when he flips to it, he doesn't recognize the beginning. Then he looks at the title.

The Destroyer.

When he glances up, Darcy is sitting at his mother's loom, listening to her explain how to run the fabrics through twice. "The smaller stitches will reinforce the fabric to make it durable. Loki and Thor's first cloaks withstood decades of battles before I had to remake them."

There are no illustrations, but the description makes his blood run cold. When they were young, it was Thor who was impatient to flip to the end of a tale, to find out who won, who was punished, how things ended. Loki had always been content to wait, to listen and sift for clues and figure out the ending on his own. Now his hand shakes and against his will he understands his brother, wants nothing more than to reach the last page and be told that all ends well.

He forces himself to wait, to read the entire tale.

After all, endings can always be changed, if you twist the words just right.

His hand shakes as he nears the end. It is no coincidence that Frigga brought this tale to his attention. This Destroyer is a manifestation of darkness and oblivion and a consumer of whole worlds. 

The next page...is missing. Where the end should be is merely the beginning of another story. Loki lets out a frustrated noise and Frigga looks up. She is cunning, no wife of Odin could be less. And she has proven that she knows him well.

To Thor, she would give the problem and a straightforward solution. Then he would find a way to achieve this goal. But for Loki, she knows that giving him the answers would be too simple. It would be an insult. To Loki, Frigga gives possibility, a puzzle to solve.

So be it. He will write his own ending, then.

And he will win.

He goes back to the beginning, rereading the darker, bloodier versions of the bedtime stories he loved so well. It is easy to get lost in them, the memories of being huddled together with Thor as Frigga, and sometimes Odin, would read to them by lamplight. Loki was always cold, wrapped in layers of blankets. The healers thought he was a sickly child.

Not sickly at all. Just a monster. He slams the book shut and gets to his feet. Both Frigga and Darcy are staring at him. He wishes he could speak, could spew out all the bile and hatred pressing in his throat just to be rid of the burden of it. But all he can do it clench his fists and slam the door as hard as he can. Just like a child.

*

It is late when Frigga comes to loosen the stitches. "Jane will not need you for a day or two. If you stay here, these can stay as they are." Her lips are cool on his cheek.

Loki is almost asleep when he hears the key. Darcy is wearing her dinner dress and the blue grey cloak. "I brought you something," she says, the bottle in her hand sloshing. "Liberated it from dinner. You helped Jane, so you deserve to celebrate too."

He should know better.

The wine would not be enough, normally, to do anything more than taste pleasant. Normally.

Normally he is not being sustained by water and nutrition spells. Normally he has eaten something in the past several weeks. Normally.

But Darcy brought the wine as a gift, and he will need her, in the days ahead, and he has never done what he should have, has never known better, so why start now? 

He brings her his water cup, from where Frigga hides it. They will have to share, having only the one cup, but he is reasonably certain Darcy will be unacquainted with the implications of that in Asgardian society. Not that it would pertain to humans in any event. Or Frost Giants.

He banishes memories of sharing a cup with Thor on joyous occasions, of his brother declaring him first in his heart and best of his family. 

He drinks.

The wine is heady and sweet, the crispness of the apple bursting across his tongue. He tips the cup to his lips carefully, making sure not to spill any of it. Darcy unclasps her cloak and drapes it over the back of the chair near his desk. Her arms are bare, in the fashion of the women of palace, and she is wearing a copper cuff that he recognizes as belonging to his mother. If she were Asgardian, it would be a symbol that she has been chosen to be part of his mother's inner circle.

The kind of woman fit for a prince.

In his stomach, the wine is warm. It has been a fair few years since he has had these kind of feelings. There were always men and women available to Princes of Asgard, were they to desire it.

"You look like you're thinking really hard," Darcy says, sitting next to him. She takes the cup from his hand and drinks. He watches her throat ripple as she swallows and imagines how her skin might feel under his fingertips. "It's weird, you not being able to talk. Everyone's always saying I'm a blabbermouth, but it's hard to tell with you."

He reaches for pen and paper, uses his magic to keep his writing steady. The wine won't have hit him yet, but he might as well start the spell now, before it does.

_For once in my life, I endeavor not to think at all._

"I'll drink to that," Darcy laughs, sipping again before passing him the cup.

He is unsure when they finish it, as everything begins to go hazy after that. A pleasant warmth suffuses everything, and Darcy tips her head onto his shoulder and oh, if his lips were free he would put them to good use.

"I don't usually wear dresses at home. S'kinda liberating," Darcy says, kicking off her shoes and pulling one leg up underneath her. It forces her to lean more heavily against him and he puts his arm around her waist. They sit like that for a few quiet moments and Loki finds he is as content as he can be. He has not felt anything near to that in quite some time.

Darcy shifts and he looks down at her. "Don't -- don't freak out, okay?" She stretches up and brushes her lips over the corner of his mouth, soft and damp over the cursed threads of his punishment.

He groans, and then immediately regrets it when Darcy pulls back.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?"

Loki answers her by stroking her face, her cheek, her arm. He cannot kiss her properly, not like this, but there are other things he _can_ do. And if he loosens his threads a little farther than Frigga had done, enough for the tip of his tongue to dart through, the taste of her skin, in the hollow of her collarbone, is worth the pain.

"Oh," Darcy says, and under his hands, he can feel her skin break out in goosebumps. Her teeth dig into her bottom lip and sheer want slams into him. It shakes his bones the same way as his rage, his need for revenge did. It is something he does not fully understand, but his mind is too sluggish to think on it properly right now. 

Darcy shifts, pushing at him until he is lying back. "Tipsy making out is going to be hard without being able to kiss you," she says, curling into his side. Her breath ghosts against his jaw, trailing toward his ear. "But maybe slow and steady is better."

She is beautiful, like this, hair framing her facing and falling down, tickling his chest. He wants to kiss her too, to cup her face between his hands and feel the ridges in her mouth, the soft inside of her cheeks. He wants -- oh, how he _wants_.

Darcy can still kiss the rest of him, though, and without his saying anything (not that he could) she pushes his shirt aside, presses her lips, her teeth, to his shoulder, where any marks will be covered and no one will know. "Tell me if it's too much," she says, "any of it." Loki just groans, and traces her ear with his finger as she traces his with her tongue.

The wine, the warmth of the room, and the feeling of her hands on him make him bold. He trails his fingers down her back and when he spreads his hand out between her shoulder blades, he thinks how easy it would be to hurt her, even accidentally. For a flashing moment, he wishes he could speak to Thor, ask him how he is careful with Jane.

"Loki?" Darcy says and he didn't realize his eyes were closed. She sways in close and kisses the crest of his cheek. "Can I stay here? It's warm and it's been awhile since I just slept with someone."

He nods, swallowing the unexpected lump in his throat, and strokes the back of her neck.

She must leave early enough that no one misses her, of course. But as long as the curtains are open, the sun will wake them long before her absence will be noted. He strokes her hair, and does not think about how long it has been since he, too, slept in an occupied bed. She is warm and soft and gentle, and he is drunk. That is all.

*

_Loki is lying in the meadow, grass warm under his back. He is relaxed for the first time in ages. When he turns his head, he can see Thor, Sif, and the other Warriors sparring playfully. Jane is nearby, a book in her lap, looking up when Thor calls her name._

_"Hi," Darcy says, sitting down next to him. Her hair is only half bound, streaming behind her in the gentle breeze. "It took me awhile to get here."_

_"Why?" he asks, leaning up on his elbows. Then he sees that she's covered with cuts and scrapes, little beads of blood dotting her skin. "What happened?"_

_"I lost my knives," she answers. "But I'm here, so it doesn't matter now." She surges forward and kisses him hard. He forgets what he was trying to ask her and gets lost in the heat of her mouth instead._

*

Darcy is wound around him, her skirt ruched up high enough that he can see the pale expanse of her leg where it's thrown across his. He doesn't bother to stop himself from running his hand over her thigh, the muscle there flexing a little as she wakes up.

She blinks sleepily for a moment, barely stirring, and then he feels her smile against his neck.

"Is it going to be a **very** good morning, then?

He groans, and Darcy takes it as permission to -- to _straddle_ him. "I see it is," she says, wriggling, and his hand tightens on her thigh before he remembers how delicate she is, and forces himself to be gentle.

One of the straps of her dress has fallen down her shoulder and Loki can see the way her chest rises when she inhales. She presses down against him, rolling her hips. He cannot help but arch up with an answering pressure. Leaving one hand on her leg, he brings the other up to pull at her dress.

"Wait, hang on," she says, sitting up. Reaching behind her, she pulls at the ties and the top comes undone, fabric pooling at her waist. "Better?"

Loki can only nod.

Eyes steady on hers, he caresses one breast, rubs a thumb across her nipple. She sucks in a breath, and when he rolls it between his fingers she bites her bottom lip. She is gorgeous.

With his free hand he pushes gently on her back, until she leans down, and he can flick his tongue out. Her skin is sweet and yielding.

"God, I wish I could pull those stitches out," she says, her hair tumbling down around them. "I think that pretty much all the time, but -- oh God -- really right now." The hand on his shoulder tightens when his other hand slides higher up her thigh. Her skin is hot and he concentrates enough to let down a tiny bit of his glamour. She gasps and he smiles as much as he's able. If neither of them can see it, he can pretend it's just a spell. It's not who he really is.

The farther his hand moves, the warmer her skin, until he pushes a finger inside her, and she arches her back. He looks up, wishes he could ask if this is acceptable, but she must read something in his body, in his hesitation, because she rocks against his finger, and that is all the encouragement he needs.

"Loki," she says, burying her face in his neck, kissing him. He changes the angle of his hand and Darcy grinds against him. She is not playing coy or acting as if she must be convinced like many of the women on Asgard. Darcy wants this, she came to him and stayed.

Her breath stutters. "Can I?" she asks and he doesn't know what she's trying to ask. Kissing his chin, she first gathers her dress and pulls it off. It lands in a heap on the floor, but he finds himself distracted at the way the pale morning sun looks on her skin. Her hand goes to his sleeping pants, shoving at the waist. "I want to touch you too."

He closes his eyes for a minute, against the tide of emotions, but he lifts his hips and lets her slide his clothes off. How could he say no? Her hand is warm, and firm, and he wants to make her lose all composure, all rhythm, all sense. He wants to make her feel nothing but him, wants her beauty, wants her lips, wants her to feel him everywhere, to shudder apart screaming his name, to collapse against his chest and stay in his arms and all of Asgard to know that she is his, and he is hers.

He wants many things he cannot have, but some of them, some he can. He slides a second finger inside of her, and when he twists, her own hand shakes and were his lips not sewn together he would smile.

Darcy is not quiet or shy. She moans and shakes, giving him directions on how to touch her for maximum pleasure. "Tilt your hand," she says, brushing her mouth against his chest. He obeys and her whole body shudders. "Oh my Lord," she whimpers.

She brings her hand to her mouth and wets it. When she touches him again, the slide is much easier and he strains against the stitches, groaning her name. Her hands are nimble and he is shamefully close -- it has been too long. Nuzzling against her breast, he gentles the hold on her hip. 

He makes her shudder again, and again, and if he can concentrate on the feel of her body, warm and moist around his fingers, he can hold on longer. He brushes his thumb over her, teasing, but her groan makes him repeat the touch, so he can hear it again.It would take one with more delusions than him to think that if he'd only had this, had someone to say his name in the breathless, worshipful tone that Darcy is using now, that he would never have interfered with Thor's ascension, never started the events that led him to make that terrible bargain and forfeit his freedom for the chance to cause as much damage as chaos as possible.

But it certainly would have made him think twice about it. 

Darcy twists her wrist, biting at his earlobe. "I wish I could hear you," she says.

He moans, not just to oblige her but because he can't quite stop himself. Doesn't want to. He wants to do more than just moan, but he must content himself instead with the sounds he can make, the ones that please her -- and concentrate on pleasing her in other ways. Ways that involve a third finger, and his fingers are so _very_ clever. 

She chokes back a scream, he can feel the whisper of it against his neck, and he takes the opportunity of her distraction to slide out of her grip, to push her against the bed and bend his head. He cannot kiss her, but the bonds are loose enough for him to taste her, just a little, on the tip of his tongue, and she tastes so good as she cries his name and falls to pieces.

Dragging his cheek against the tender skin of her inner thigh, he uses his hand to bring her over a second time. Her back arches and he gets lost for a moment in the shape of her. When she stops trembling, she sits up and cups his face, kissing him right on the mouth, uncaring of his stitches.

"My turn," she says and he expects her hand on him. Instead, she slips down until she's between his legs. She takes him in her mouth and the scalding heat of it shocks him. Reaching down, he buries his hand in her thick hair, but he does nothing else. In his experience, women do not take very kindly to that sort of roughness unless it's agreed upon first.

Darcy presses up against his hand, though, murmurs something he cannot make out, and when he gives a gentle, experimental tug, hums happily. The vibrations make him gasp, as does whatever it is she does with her tongue, and he bites his lip to ground himself and keep from spilling over too soon.

He is painfully hard, though, and uncertain how long he can hold back.

Her head rises up and her cheeks hollow out. When he looks down, her eyes meet his and there's a spark there that makes something in his chest twist. His hips come up and he throws his head back, lips pulling against their restraints as he releases himself into her mouth.

Darcy pulls away only when he's completely spent, climbing up the bed to nestle close to him. They haven't much more time before her absence from her rooms will be noted, but there is enough time for this, for him to wrap an arm around her, rub circles on her shoulder with his thumb, for her to nuzzle his neck and both of them to feel warm, content, sated.

Some day, if all goes well, he will be able to give her more than this. He will kiss her into oblivion, and if they wish to spend days in bed, no one will care except the two of them.

If all goes well.

*

He sits up when the door opens, throwing the sheets and quilt over Darcy's naked form.

"Nothing to fear," Frigga says. She is holding a pile of clothing and a jug of water. "And I have seen far more scandalous things in my time, dear one." She only tuts when she sees Darcy's dress on the floor. "Most of the household is still in bed. The celebration went on long after Darcy sneaked out. If anyone asks after her, I have made it clear she is in my workroom and not to disturbed until after lunch. There are clean clothes for her when she is awake."

Loki makes a choked off noise, reaching for his own clothes so he can get up. He meets Frigga near the windows. Grasping his chin, she looks at his punishment critically. "You must be careful. Too many times and too loose and Odin will surely know."

He wonders, sometimes, if Odin ever loved him at all.

He squashes the thought ruthlessly, tightens the bonds just a little, just until Frigga says, "Enough." She hands him the cup of water and he drinks slowly, savoring the crisp, cool taste. He wasn't drunk enough to rue it this morning, but the water is good nonetheless. Frigga whispers her healing magics, kisses him once, on his right temple, and slips away before Darcy wakes. 

It is much later when Darcy finally stirs. Loki is at the desk, pouring over old maps of Yggdrasil, trying to remember all the shadow paths he's walked over the centuries. That could be very useful to all of them in the future.

"Morning," she says. She is holding the sheet to her chest and her hair is mussed. "It's really late, isn't it?"

He gets up and hands her a note.

_My mother came by. You have been in her workshop this morning. There are clean clothes and I drew a bath for you in the bathing chamber, if you like._

"A bath, oh God." She kneels up and kisses him on the cheek. "That's awesome."

He picks her up, coincidentally losing the sheet, and carries her in. The water is still warm when he lets her slide out of his arms, and her face is almost -- almost -- as blissful as last night. He rubs his cheek on the top of her head, because he cannot kiss, and leaves her to her ablutions.

By the time she emerges in her new dress, smelling of citrus, he has rolled up the maps and is attempting to recreate them himself, from memory.

"That's the tree, right?" Darcy asks, leaning over his shoulder. "Thor drew it for Jane and she's been having a cartographer here remake it for her more precisely." She squints and he realizes she's not wearing her glasses. Tapping her, he touches her eyes and mumbles a spell. When he takes his hands away, she blinks. "Hey. I can see. That's an excellent trick to have for emergencies. Thanks." She kisses him and points to his pathways. "These won't be on that map though, will they?"

Loki shakes his head. He's not even sure anyone without his kind of magic could travel them safely. Heimdall might know. 

Though it might help to know if Thanos can travel those paths.

If he can bring himself to ask Heimdall anything. Which he is not at all certain he can.

If they are truly going to use the Tesseract to power the Bifrost, it might not matter -- they will be rendering themselves open to danger in any event. To Him.

Because if there is one thing Loki is certain of, it is that He will come.

"I'm gonna go to the workroom. Jane's going to come looking for me," Darcy says, pulling him out of his thoughts. He turns to look at her and she rubs her thumb across his mouth. "This is really weird. Usually, my mornings after involve pancakes and trying to decide if I should lose a dude's number."

_I don't have any numbers for you to lose._

Darcy smiles. "That's true. I don't know what Jane might need later, but I'll come back, even if it's after lights out." With one more kiss at the corner of his mouth, she leaves and Loki can do nothing but stare at the rumpled bed for a moment afterward.

Then he goes back to work.

*

The afternoon brings the heavy knock of his brother at his door.

"Loki," Thor says. He is holding a set of practice spears. "Will you spar with me? I find I am restless today. And it would be wise to keep your skills sharp."

Loki stares at him. Thor cannot possibly know what is coming, can he? Could Frigga have told him, hinted, or -- Jane might have noticed something, when they worked. 

Why would Thor want to spar with spears? He hasn't touched a spear since he first picked up Mjolnir. Why would he want Loki to keep his skills... oh. Oh, Thor. Ever the big brother, with his suffocating need to train and meddle and his refusal to believe Loki can stand on his own two feet.

Well, why not take a spear, then? As though _his_ skills with them need sharpening.

Let Thor try. What harm can it do Loki?

He stands aside, and lets his brother enter. 

Thor looks at his desk with mild interest. "You are keeping busy, I see. That is...good. I argued with Father to allow you your books, but he is stubborn."

Loki snorts, going to his wardrobe and finding an old set of his armor. It was the set from before the coronation. Just touching it makes him ache a little for the man he was. Before Odin revealed the truth.

Once it's on, he turns back to Thor. Tipping his head toward the window, Thor grins.

"Ah, brother. Then it shall be like when we were boys and you did not have magic, only your cunning." He hands one spear to Loki and throws the window open wide. "After you."

Loki wishes he could grin. Instead, he shoves Thor out. It's only because Thor was half expecting it that he lands on his feet in the clearing below.

He has half a mind to leave Thor there alone, to take his weapon to the necks of the guards outside his door. He could sharpen it with his magic, at least enough to slit their throats.

But even if he could escape without notice, he could not bring Darcy with him, nor his mother. He will not leave them for Thanos to desecrate.

He jumps out the window, spear ready, and it does not warm his heart in the slightest when his brother laughs.

Once he hits the ground, Thor gives him no quarter, attacking as soon as Loki rolls to his feet. It does feel good to fight, to stretch his muscles. His body remembers all their lessons and without magic, Thor's blows hurt, but Loki finds he doesn't care.

He pivots and tries to sweep Thor's knees from under him, but Thor sees it. "Ah, I will not fall for **that** again, Brother." He counters with a solid block and Loki is impressed. Thor's fighting is much improved. More strategy and less blind destruction.

Of course, he could send copies of himself to distract Thor, attack from behind, but he will not give away proof of his magic so easily.

He can beat Thor without it, in any event, he is certain of it. He is still the better strategist, and Thor's muscles give away his movements. Only seconds before he makes them, but one second can be enough.

Loki learned early on not to telegraph his intentions, be they on the battlefield or otherwise. He spins both body and spear, and drives the butt of it into Thor's stomach before dancing out of reach.

Thor grunts but there is a laugh at the end of it. "Very good," he calls and strikes out with a flick of his wrist. The spears bang and clash until Loki is aching, but he will not cede. Never will he cede to Thor, even in practice. 

He lands a blow across Thor's shoulders when he hears the clapping.

"Jane!" Thor says, getting to his feet.

Jane is standing at the edge of the clearing and Darcy is with her. Darcy's face is a mix of amusement and curiosity. Loki wonders if that is what he must look like to people.

Still.

He takes the opportunity of Thor's distraction to actually follow through on sweeping his legs out. His brother will not be harmed, and it is worth it for Darcy's laughter.

That Thor laughs as well, holds out a hand for Loki to pull him to his feet, means nothing.

Even if he could, he would not smile back.

"Well fought, brother. I believe I forgot how skilled you are with a spear," Thor says, slinging his arm over his shoulder. Loki allows it only because it would be more work and anguish to shove him away. "Perhaps swords next time."

Loki does not let his face betray him, but Darcy covers her mouth for her laughter. "You really think that's a good plan, big guy?"

"Of course. Loki would not truly harm me. A little blood between brothers is to be expected," Thor answers. "You should have him spar with you, Lady Darcy. He is as fast as Sif on his feet."

"Loki can spar with me any time," Darcy says, and though she smiles she gives as little away as he does, at least where Thor is concerned. Jane glances at her, but Jane will not betray them, he is certain of that. Not while they are still on Asgard, under Odin's rule.

Which reminds him, he must return to his cage before his absence is noted. He turns back, towards the windows, but Thor tightens his arm. It is brief, a spasm, but it is enough. Loki twists away from him.

"Will you not sit with us, brother? The day is fair and even the prisoners in the stocks get an hour outside," Thor says. There is a pleading note in his voice and it tears at Loki's chest. His hand flexes and he can picture himself hitting Thor, blood streaming from his face. It would be immensely satisfying.

"I would like that too," Jane says. She produces a sheaf of paper and a pen from the satchel she has taken to carrying with her everywhere. "In case you want to...talk?" It is clumsy and awkward, but it is an offer of friendship.

He does not want to be friends. He does not want to be _brothers_. It only means more fodder for his nightmares, more leverage for Thanos, more things that Odin can take from him. 

Darcy is here. He will need her, if he is to succeed.

He sits.

Darcy sits next to him. Near enough that her knee presses his when she shifts. She and Jane tell stories about the place where Jane's laboratory is and how Darcy makes some kind of very potent drink called a kamikaze.

"I have never been sicker in my life," Jane says, laughing. "Death would have been a relief."

At that remark, Thor looks at him. It is the same look he had on the bridge just before Loki let go. If he could change that moment, rewrite time and reach for Thor's hand instead of falling... 

No. Dwelling on that will not change the events he has already set in motion.

"Death should never be a relief," Thor says, which is ridiculous and short-sighted and so utterly him that it makes Loki want to vomit. It is true that on Asgard people rarely sicken, rarely die, but they have both seen warriors return from battle with wounds that no one should be expected to bear, in pain that may never fade. It is only because they would die here, rather than in battle, that they hold on, hoping for Valhalla. It is ridiculous, and unnecessary, and Loki has never understood why it should not ease someone's heart, to know that a loved one was free from eternal torment, free from pain and twisted limbs and heartache and...

Darcy is giving him an odd look, and he realizes his jaw and hands are clenched. He forces himself to smooth them, to hope the moment likewise will smooth over.

But Thor is going on about those left behind, about mourning and grief and Loki cannot stop him, cannot shut him up, but he can still be heard. Well, read.

_Death is not about those who are still living. It is for the one who died. It belongs to him, no other._

He shoves the paper at Thor. Jane bites her lip. "Brother, you cannot believe -- "

_I believe that death is a release. And when it is time, it is time._

"My aunt," Darcy says quietly. "She was the only adult I could stand for a long time. When I was seventeen, she got sick. Terminal cancer. She could have had treatment, spend her last few months in a hospital bed. But she didn't want that. She drove herself to this little place in California, a bed and breakfast a friend of hers owned in Carmel. She went out, had a three hundred dollar bottle of wine, and came back that night and took a handful of sleeping pills. She wanted to die on her own terms. That way no one could choose for her and we wouldn't remember her sick and wasting away."

"Darcy," Jane says, reaching to embrace her.

"I was happy for her," Darcy says, putting a hand to stop Jane. "It sucked, don't get me wrong. I miss her, I was angry she had to die, and large part of me was angry not to get those extra months. But she was free of pain, free of sickness, and she did it her way. I had to respect that. I had to respect her choice, because I loved and respected _her_."

"And when someone seeks release before their time?" Thor asks, eyes steady on Loki.

"Then I'd want to know what circumstances led them to make that choice." 

"You do not think it is without honor?" Thor seems genuinely curious. Loki knows it is because he could never imagine dying in any other way than in glorious, righteous battle. It is the kind of death that he deserves.

"I think there's a difference between honoring yourself and who you are and honoring what others believe. To thine ownself be true." Darcy looks at him and he can only nod. There are words, hundreds of them trapped on his tongue, but the only one he writes down is this.

_Choice._

"Exactly. Now you get it."

Thor still looks thoughtful. A snide part of Loki wants to comment that it's a new look for him, but he also wants to encourage this behavior. If Thor can come to understand him, even a little, if he tries, perhaps some day Loki will be able to quench the fire that burns him whenever he thinks of his brother. Perhaps someday they can be -- not closer to what they were as children, not that. Loki hated that. But closer to what brothers _should_ be, as adults. 

Perhaps.

The talk turns to lighter things and later, after they escort Loki back to his rooms, Thor stops before he leaves.

"I would beg a favor of you, brother. There are things that I feel I should be prepared for, to defend Asgard and Midgard when Jane reopens the Bifrost. You know of these things and I know you are angry, more angry than I could ever understand, but I beg of you, do not let this entire realm suffer for the sins of Odin."

Loki blinks at him. He is speechless.

"Do not decide today. Think on this, Loki." And with that,Thor takes his leave.

*

_It is cold. So cold that even Loki feels it. So cold he cannot keep his glamour, has to show his true form. Everything in his room is covered in frost, in ice, in snow. He looks out the window, and the field where he sparred with Thor, where he sat and talked with Jane and Darcy, is a rolling mound of white, glittering in the cold sunshine. There is something shiny just near the edge of his vision. He leans forward, can almost make out the shape of an armband. He leaps out the window, rolling as he lands, but he is too late. The arm is frozen, Darcy's arm. There is a hint of yellow to his left, where Thor was sitting. He does not turn to look at it. He strokes Darcy's armband, and his fingers burn from the cold._

_It was a dream, nothing but shadows and figments._

_How could he dream of the cold when all of Asgard is burning? Through the billows of smoke he can see the curtains of his mother's work chamber, all ablaze. He runs._

_He runs and runs and it is so hot, the very air sears his skin, and he bursts through the window, reaches for Frigga, but she ignores him. She is kneeling, keening, rocking a body back and forth and that cannot be Thor; Thor froze -- no, that was a dream -- that cannot be Thor. Frigga looks at him, tears pouring from her eyes and evaporating in the heat. "He was also my son."_

_He reaches out to touch the charred meat that used to be Thor, and his brother's body crumbles beneath his fingers._

_No. This is also a dream._

_There is no cold, no fire, only darkness, and laughter, and the city he grew up in lies in ruins beneath the taunting void._

_"Are you ready to beg yet?"_

*

It goes on like that for the next two nights. Tonight, it is Darcy's body in his mother's arms, blackened and raw. He comes awake with a gasp, _yes_ lingering on the back of his tongue.

This is part of the game. Pushing Loki to brink of despair, break his mind first and his body will be nothing but a play toy for Thanos and his hordes. Asgardians live long lives and Loki truly shudders to think of all the ways Thanos could torture him.

"You had another nightmare," Darcy says. There's no question in her voice. She came to him after dinner, with a set of schematics from Jane, and never bothered to leave. She is wearing one of his old tunics and her hair is coming unbraided. Behind his eyes, he sees her frozen, face contorted in a terrified scream. He sees her burning and blowing like ash from Frigga's hands.

"It's gonna happen soon, isn't it? Jane's almost ready. Odin's had the smiths or whoever Asgard's version of Tony Stark is building that battery thing you two designed. And once the Tesseract comes out of the vault, things are going to get ugly fast."

She doesn't seem scared, only resigned. He rolls over, reaching for his paper.

_I can save my mother. And you. There is a pathway that the two of you can take to Midgard. She will not understand and I need to know you will guide her._

Darcy slaps him. He stares at her, uncomprehending. Her first slap, when she stood in Odin's hall and rang a peal over his head for the sake of Erik Selvig, that he understood. 

"You expect me to _leave_ you? To leave _Jane_? You expect your mother to leave you and Thor, and her people?"

She is glaring at him, chest heaving, and yes, perhaps he _can_ understand this rage on some level, but--

_I cannot lose you._

Her face doesn't soften, not in the slightest. "What happened to honoring my choice?"

_If you stay and He finds you, you will wish for death. Be forced to watch Him destroy this world, Jane, Thor, my mother. He will save you for last because you are dear to me. I will have to disgrace you before I kill you._

"You don't -- Loki -- "

_It is what I would do. Would have done, in my madness. Once you are all gone, I will spend the rest of my long life paying for what I have done. If you go, at least I will still have hope._

His hands are shaking. Darcy shakes her head. "I can't promise you that I can do that. What might be hope for you? It would be guilt for me, the worst kind. And your mother, she would never forgive herself or me."

_She would know. She always knows._

"Then she would know what's happening to you. It would be worse, so much worse. I want to stay. I want to help fight, and if I have to die, I want to do it knowing I tried my hardest to help the people I care about. You don't have to like it, but you have to respect it."

He turns away then, curls his fingers around his windowsill. Can he do that? Respect her choice? Is it not enough that Thor will die? 

The bedclothes move and Darcy wraps her arms around his shoulders. Against the back of his neck, her cheek is hot and damp. "I don't want to die. But the other way, it's no way to live."

She is brave. And noble. And stupid. But right now, he cannot force his will on her. He can only hope that when the time comes, she will weaken just enough to let him convince her to run.

He ignores his mother's voice in his head, telling him, "You will need her."

The problem with needing people is that it gives them power over him. And he cannot trust her to use that power the way he would like her to. Left to her own devices, she will be tortured in front of him until both of them are pleading for death, sobbing like small children on bended, bloodied knees.

But then, she is crying now, and he cannot have that. She should save her tears for when they are needed. He turns around, cradles her face in his hands and brushes her cheeks with his thumbs. If they only have now, so be it. Let them take what joy is left in their lives. The Bifrost is almost ready, and his threads are weak enough that he can snap them, when he needs to.

He will be as ready as he can be. And if Thor will listen to him, will listen and not tell Odin, Asgard may be ready too. 

"I never cried this much on Earth," Darcy says, giving him a weak smile. Loki raises his eyebrow. "Seriously, I was a stone cold hardass." Shaking his head at her, he maneuvers them both back into his bed. Darcy tangles their legs together and presses a kiss to his throat. He anchors his hands in her hair and breathes slow and deep. 

As a boy, Loki never liked peace and quiet. There were always too many charged looks and unanswered questions in silence and the calm of the palace was boring to a mind wishing for a challenge. But this, he could get used to.

He sincerely hopes he can remember it in the long years that lie ahead.

And then Darcy destroys all his hard-won peace by whispering, "Hey, what do you use for condoms here?" 

He rolls over, stares at her, and she shrugs. "You know, just in case."

He continues staring, and she stares back at him, completely impassive, for at least five minutes and possibly an eternity.

She cannot possibly be serious. He is certain of that much. And yet she continues to stare, one eyebrow quirked as though waiting for his answer.

He sighs and she leans up on one elbow. "It's a completely valid question. If Thanos is coming and we're all gonna die, I'm sure as hell going to make sure I have one last night to remember." She nuzzles at his jaw. "And in case we win, I want to make sure you and I are safe. I don't think either of us is ready to have a little, dark haired spawn running around."

An image of that flashes in his mind and he locks it down as fast as he can. Entertaining thoughts of the future will do him no good.

Bringing his hand up, he mimes drinking and points to her first and then himself. 

"What, a magic potion? Of course." She drops back and laughs. "And next you're gonna tell me that the best person to cook it is your mom."

_Actually, I used to have a rather tidy side business making it for all the warriors and guards in the palace. But without supplies and magic, yes, hers are the most potent and powerful._

_Shall I ask her for some or would you like the honors?_

"Jane probably has some I could steal," she says. "Let her or Thor have to do the asking."

This is why he likes Darcy far more than is good for him.

 _By all means,_ he writes, _have at them._

Darcy grins, and oh, how he wants to kiss her. Properly. With no threads in the way.

When it is all over, if they win, he will kiss every inch of her body, memorize her skin with his tongue, learn the taste of her, and the feel of her name on his lips. He will whisper it into the hollow where her hips meet her thigh, into the arch of her feet, into the notch in her collarbone, and all the dips and turns of her, and she will truly be his.

If they win.

For now he must content himself with drinking in the feel of her skin under his hands, sliding against him as he slips his fingers inside, working her until she is flush with heat. Her little groans and whimpers cut through his haze when she says, "Please, Loki, please."

He holds her tighter, lets her feel how much he wants her and with his clever hands, gives her what she's asking for.

And in that moment, he allows himself to think _when._

*

Since he was first old enough to understand the differences in how their minds worked, since he first realized Thor thought of him as the others did, weak, needing protection, too clever for his own good, he has never told his brother his plans.

Not all of them.

It rubs him raw, to lay them bare now for Thor to look at. To judge. To judge _him_.

And yet, Thor must know of his plans for Asgard, if Asgard is not to fall. And he must send Jane away, if Darcy is to go.

And he must help Loki, he _must_ , in convincing Frigga she, too --

"How can you ask that of her?" Thor is quiet, for once, brow furrowed, voice open, patient, questioning. As if Loki is some small animal, backed into a corner, that must be gently reasoned with. Well then. Let Thor be stung by his quills. She is Loki's mother too, and he has a right to want her safe. Three people in the universe love him. One of them is Thor, whose love is a burden he does not want and who will insist on leading the way into battle, in any event. That leaves only two people, and he needs Frigga safe. He is allowed to need her, just as he needs Dar-- _oh_.

Oh, Mother.

He steadies himself, because now is not the time. Now he looks Thor in the eye, and the way to get Thor to bend is to use in just as open, patient and calm a voice. Loki touches his brother's arm, and asks him, "How can we not?" 

Thor startles at the sound of his voice. "Loki, how -- "

"My magic is not extinguished, only severely dampened. This will not last long, so hear me, Thor. They must go, all of them. And you must trust me. This is the only way to stop Thanos. He must believe that I planned this from the start. I vow to you, on Mother's life, on Darcy's life, that I will not betray Asgard. But I cannot see any other way."

Thor's eyes are soft and he does exactly what Loki expects. He throws his arms around him and embraces him tightly. "Brother. I trust you. I will do as you ask. I am glad to have you at my side once more."

Loki allows himself to return Thor's affection briefly. He thinks of when they were small, tiny saplings of the men they would become and Thor was afraid of thunder. It was Loki who held him then. How time has changed them both. 

After a moment, Loki steps back and Thor straightens his shoulders. "I will bring the scepter to you. Jane has said her device will be ready in two days time?"

Loki nods. The stitches ache and the spell is exhausting him. Thor grasps his arm. "Then it will be done. I shall speak with Jane."

After that he lies down; he will need his rest, his strength, his magic, for the battle to come. All of this will have been for naught if he lacks the stamina to endure.

*

_He is on Midgard, a cramped room in a cramped apartment in a cramped building where the humans pack themselves like sardines. Jane is on a computer, running data over and over and over again. It keeps coming back the same, but she refuses to accept it and runs the program again. Frigga sits at her loom-- no, someone else's. Frigga's loom is on Asgard, and Asgard is no more. Her clever fingers are clumsy on this loom, the tapestry she's weaving fulling of rips and knots. Darcy sits by the window, knees drawn to her chest, crying quietly._

_"Don't," he says, "Darcy. Darcy."_

_She doesn't hear him._

_Of course, he cannot talk, not with his lips sewn shut. He thought he had freed them for the battle, but he was clearly mistaken. He reaches for her shoulder, but his hand passes through it._

_"The dead cannot ease the living," Frigga says._

_"Mother?"_

_"How can she respect your choice when **you** did not respect **hers**?"_

_"You made me need her," Loki says. "I **had** to send her away."_

_"Oh, child, when has anyone ever made you do anything?" Frigga frowns at him. "Love requires two people, Loki Laufeyson."_

_"Friggason," he whispers, but she doesn't hear him anymore._

_Jane runs the data again._

*

He goes to find Frigga, his guards trailing behind him. She is alone in her rooms, a long length of white silk in her lap. Her fingers fly over the edges, attaching tiny seeded pearls in perfect rows. When she sees him, she dismisses the guards and pats the couch beside her.

"Thor came to see me. He said you two have devised a plan. He is with Odin now, discussing how best to distribute the armies. Purely for matters of defence. Odin is cautious in his old age," she says, never looking up. "I know the path you wish to send us down. You cannot think I would not."

He writes, careful of her work. _You are the one that taught me. It was the books you gave me that lead me to find them in the first place. You and Odin must have used them a few times._

"We did," she replies, a smile on her face. "When we were young and wished to have adventures in realms other than this one. It was many, many years ago. Before the war and before you and your brother were born."

_For Jane?_

"Yes. Your brother is also seeking Odin's permission to make her his wife. But he wants to wait until after this battle. Thor could not bear to leave a widow behind."

He cannot look at her then. The words hang between them, heavy as ripe fruit, until Frigga plucks them down.

"You have shared wine with her, used a silver chalice."

Loki can only nod. Lying now would do him more harm than good.

"She offered this freely of herself. I do not believe Darcy would be forced and keep silent about it," Frigga says with a chuckle. "But she does not know what that means here."

_Technically, neither of us are of Asgard. Do those traditions even apply?_

Her hands still. "You are a Prince of Asgard and my son. You will honor our traditions properly. I will have nothing less."

_Mother._

"Yes. I am."

He drops his head to her shoulder.

_I cannot lose you._

"I would not ask you to bear anything you could not handle," Frigga says, and continues sewing. "Now hush while I work, or else tell me of your Darcy."

_You spend nearly every day with her._

" **Your** Darcy," Frigga says, poking him with her needle.

 _She looked behind the thread_ , he writes. It is all he can bring himself to say. It is still new, this knowledge he holds inside him now. The stab of longing when Darcy spoke of dark-haired tots. The fear of losing her, not because he will need her to defeat Thanos, but because he needs her now. The moment he thought _when_. It is new, and fragile, and powerful, and he is not yet ready to share it.

Frigga must know anyway, knows everything, because she kisses the top of his head and says, "I am happy for you."

He closes his eyes and swallows.

"Your brother also asked a favor of me while he was here," she says. He makes a little noise of inquiry and her smile turns positively wicked. "It seems the last few vials of prevention potion Jane had went missing from her room. He asked me if I could make some more this afternoon. I do not think I have seen your brother stammer or turn so red over a request in many, many years."

_That is strange indeed. Jane is occasionally scatterbrained. Perhaps she misplaced them._

Frigga rolls her eyes fondly. "I don't suppose I'll be getting the same request from you or Darcy."

_I do not believe that will be necessary, no._

"Incorrigible, both of you."

_When I asked her to leave with you, she slapped me._

That makes Frigga laugh so hard she almost drops a stitch. "Oh, I do enjoy her so. I imagine you weren't expecting that." When the fabric is resettled, she looks at him. "I would be proud to call her my daughter someday."

Loki shakes his head. _Do not think of that future. It is extremely unlikely to pass._

There is a swift knock and Odin comes striding in, white and gold robes flashing. "Frigga -- Ah. You have a visitor."

Loki wants to roll his eyes -- as if his guards standing outside the door would not have told their king. As if their very presence was not telling enough.

He is not a child though. Certainly not Odin's child. He rises, instead, kisses his mother cheek and walks towards the door. He is stopped by a hand on his arm.

"It is as well you are here," Odin says, and Loki freezes. "Thor has come to me with news, and I would hear what you have to say."

He cannot **say** anything.

He also cannot afford to offend Odin now. He walks to Frigga's desk, using the cover of having his back turned to tighten the stitches again. Then he picks up a pen, and waits for Odin to speak. 

"He has come to me with a plan for when the Bifrost is opened. It is sound and I have ordered the armies to prepared themselves." His eye focused on Loki intently. "He will be accompanying Lady Jane. As will you, Loki."

"Odin," Frigga interrupts. "Loki carries no weapons, he cannot use his magic. I will not allow him to walk into this situation without a way to defend himself."

Odin holds up his hand. "Thor has argued well on your behalf. You may carry a spear and shield, but your stitches will remain in place."

_If it is your command, I shall obey it._

"Then obey." Odin turns to leave, but pauses in the doorway, looks back to catch Loki's eye again. "I would that you had learned to do so before now."

The door closes behind him, just in time to prevent Loki from giving in to the urge to throw something.

Frigga does it for him, startling both of them. Her voice is so low, so furious, Loki almost misses it when she whispers, "He who is done learning new things is doomed to forget the old."

He cannot tell if it is a curse, a prediction, or the anger of a thwarted mother.

With Frigga, it could be all three.

He stoops to pick up the shards of glass and when he looks up, he is shocked to notice her age. She is careful be composed at all times, so it is easy to forget she is almost as old as the All-Father. Frigga is weary and he knows much of her burden is his fault.

"Leave it. I've disliked that bowl for decades," she says. "I will take Jane and flee if the time comes. But we both know that Darcy will not go willingly. Sif has been teaching her and she has the knives I gave her." 

_They were yours once, weren't they?_

"A gift from Odin when we were courting. There is a reason I advocated for Sif to train alongside the rest of you." She sits, picking up the silk and pearls again. "I will send Darcy to you after she is done in the workroom."

Loki kisses her cheek and almost slips his guards, who have been slumped in the hall, and heads back to his rooms to fine tune his plan.

*

When Darcy slips in that night, he has not bothered to loosen his threads. When he breaks them, his magic will no longer be dampened, but until then he must conserve it, for that final threaded spell. She frowns when she kisses the corner of his mouth, and her arms slip around his neck a little more tightly.

''When this is over, and we're back on Earth --"

He puts a finger to her lips. He cannot think like that, not yet. Three days from now, if he's lucky. If they all are.

But not yet.

*

In the morning, Loki makes her eat something before leading her to the clearing under his window. Thor is there with his spear and Darcy's sword.

"Whoa, what's going on here?" Darcy narrows her eyes at both of them.

"Loki and I wish to see how your lessons with Sif have served you," Thor says. "Since I did not find your weapon of electricity, this will have to suffice."

Darcy shrugs. "Gave my taser to Jane. Hopefully, she won't have to use it." Thor tosses him the spear and steps back. In the middle of the clearing, Loki stops her and turns so his back is to Thor. From his pocket, he produces the vials and a note.

"Hey, I stole those fair and square! How'd you get them?" Loki smiles as much as he can.

_Once you can disarm me, we shall go up to my rooms, drink these, and lock the doors. No one will disturb us._

She licks her lips and he **aches** to kiss her. "You're on," she says, pulling her hair out of her face and unsheathing her sword.

She fights well, better than he expected. Not as well as one raised to the sword, but her footwork is deft and she knows enough not to test her strength with his, and to respect his longer reach. She fights like she is dancing.

She will never defeat Thanos.

She might defeat his soldiers. Possibly. If luck is on their side, and beginning fighters often are lucky, because their moves are unexpected. Where a stronger fighter who knew what he was doing would maximize chances of success, a beginner will make wildly improbable moves that by their very improbability may succeed.

He wishes she would agree to go with Jane.

"He is weaker on his left side, do you see?" Thor yells and Loki scowls.

"No helping, Thor," Darcy says, hopping out of the way of Loki's swing. "Loki'll think I cheated and I won't get my prize." Her sword clashes against the staff and when he goes to sweep her legs from under her, she ducks and drops low, hooking one foot around his ankle. He's so surprised that she's able to trip him up that he ends up flat on his back. Darcy lays her sword at his wrist. "Drop your weapon."

"Darcy!" Thor yells, coming toward them. "Wherever did you learn that?"

"Natasha," she replies, smiling down at him. "We used to do yoga and then I got her to teach me to throw a punch."

He lowers his spear, then uses it to sweep Thor's legs out. The movement and Thor's startled cry distract the both of them, and Loki is back on his feet and clear of Darcy's blade in the blink of an eye.

Thor laughs, but Darcy pulls her sword up into guard position.

Good.

She must never accept a surrender until her opponent is actually disarmed, hands tied behind him, thrown in prison and, preferably, dead.

They spar until Darcy lands a lucky blow, turning her blade from edge to flat just in time to catch the side of his neck. "On your knees," she orders and when he tries to feint, she kicks the spear away. He sinks to the ground and she takes a step in close. "Hands." He tries once more, but to his surprise, she rotates the sword just enough to let the blade press against the thin skin of his throat. Loki raises his hands behind his head slowly and the look in Darcy's eyes is gleeful. She's not a warrior yet, but she has more skill than he imagined.

"You have done well, Darcy," Thor booms. "Brother, do you concede?"

Loki hopes she can read the look he is giving her. Loki nods and Darcy steps back first before dropping the blade toward the ground. 

"You have done yourself proud. The shieldmaidens of Asgard would surely take you as an apprentice in their ranks." 

Darcy wipes her sword on her pant leg before resheathing it at her hip. She smiles sweetly at Thor. "I'll keep that in mind. You know, I bet Jane's due for a break. You should go check on her."

It is easy to forget that Thor is much more observant than anyone gives him credit for. He gives Darcy a very knowing smile before shooting a smirk at Loki. "You are right. And as I'm sure you are quite tired, I'll see that someone sends up some food and wine for you later. So you can rest."

"Thanks, big guy," Darcy replies.

For the first time he can remember, Loki is nervous.

Not about Thanos. Thanos will come, and they will fight, and either Loki's plans will bear fruit or everyone he loves will be tortured and killed, and that will be that. He has sowed those seeds, and will live (or die) with their reaping.

But he has shared wine with Darcy from a silver chalice, and she has stolen preventative potions and his mother knows all. His brother is sending them more wine tonight, and he knows he can please her, knows he can kiss his name into her skin, can stroke and twist and fill her with joy, but at some point he has to tell her their traditions, her traditions, perhaps, if she wishes them to be.

He has to ask her if she wants a second drink, a third, and if she takes that third drink...

If she accuses him of tricking her, trapping her, he isn't sure what he'll do. Because Frigga was right (always is right), and in the weeks since she came to his prison, Loki has learned to need Darcy.

To love her.

Once he shuts the doors behind them, Darcy smiles. "That probably wasn't meant to be fun, but it was. Kind of made me feel like a badass."

Loki steps close, unbuckling her scabbard and brushing his cheek against hers. He can feel her breath stutter against his neck. When he moves away, he sees the way she shivers. He takes off his knives as well and gestures for hers. Later, when Darcy is sleeping and he cannot, Loki will clean, sharpen, and polish their weapons. Ready them for battle.

"I'm kind of gross. There's room for both of us in your tub, right?" She's biting her lip, trying to look coy and failing. It hits him like a blow to the chest -- he would die for her. She is wearing a haphazard combination of Asgardian and Midgardian clothing, there are bits of grass in her frizzy, messy hair, and the hint of a bruise on her forearm where he caught her with his staff. She is nothing like who Loki imagined he would bind himself to.

_There is. I will join you in a moment._

He takes a moment, while she is in the bathing chamber, to steady himself, to breathe. He puts their weapons down carefully, ready for cleaning, smooths the sheets on his bed, resolutely does not think of two days from now, or two months, two years. He takes wine and food from a servant, when there is a knock on the door, and because all of Asgard knows he cannot eat or drink, there is only one goblet sent with the bottle.

In the bathing chamber he hears the water stop running, the soft splash of Darcy climbing into the tub. He has not been this nervous since he first learned how to please a woman.

He pours the wine, and carries the goblet with him into the adjoining room.

It smells like clean, sweet herbs and edges of the mirror is already misted with condensation from the heat of the water. Darcy's head turns when he comes in. Her hair is wet, slicked back from her face. She smiles. "C'mon in, water's fine."

He shakes his head at her and she can tell he's laughing. Setting down the goblet, he strips off his leather armor and the clothes underneath. Darcy does not even bother to turn away. She is openly staring at him and for once, he does not mind the weight of someone's gaze on him. 

When he is completely naked, he takes up the goblet again and sets it on the ledge, along with two of the vials Darcy acquired. Her smiles shifts into a dangerous smirk and he finds he likes it on her very much. She pulls her legs up so he can step in easily and he cannot help the weak moan at how the hot water feels on his muscles. Sparring with Thor the past few days has allowed him to get back to fighting shape, but without magic to heal him, he cannot bounce back as quickly as he used to. Allowing himself to sink under past his shoulders, Darcy's hand finds his calf under the water.

"Are you scared?" she asks. The softness of her voice doesn't stop the words from bouncing around the tiled room. She is biting at the side of her mouth and it is then that he remembers how _young_ she truly is.

He did not think to bring paper with him, and he must conserve his magic for the final push, the breaking of Odin's threads. Fortunately, there are other media nearby. Loki has ever had ideas in odd places, the need to write things down, to preserve them, wherever he may be. He had not yet left the nursery the first time Frigga presented him with sticks of colored soap, and if Darcy lets a slightly hysterical giggle escape when he starts writing on the wall, she still leans forward to read his response.

_It would be foolish not to be._

Because that is the secret, really. The one thing that leads him to respect this new, changed Thor in a way he never could have respected him before. The thing that means he will never respect the Warriors Three, or so many others on Asgard.

It is not brave to charge blindly into battle, no fear in your bones, no hint of anxiety, nothing to worry over, no one to lose.

It is stupid.

To be terrified, to ache with fear and fight anyway.

Darcy slips into his arms, and for once he doesn't notice her nakedness, her body pressed against his in so many right ways. He makes a soothing sound in his throat, strokes her hair, and waits until her shivers cease and she is his again.

There will be plenty of time for love-making if they survive.

And look at that. Something to look forward to.

They stay like that until the water gets cool. Darcy stretches past him to reach for the taps and he cannot help but to run his fingertips over the side of her breast, down her ribcage to the dip in her waist. She is so unlike the tall, lithe women in Asgard.

"Oh, now you're trying to get fresh," she says, pushing away from him. She reaches for the goblet and takes a healthy swallow. There is something sharp that twists in his chest as he watches her, full mouth stained by the wine. He shouldn't let her drink a third time, not without explaining, but he is too selfish. Pouring the wine and bringing the cup to her is only half the gesture -- no one has forced her to drink from his offering.

The look on his face must be quite intense because Darcy's cheeks flush and she looks away, draining the cup and putting it back on the ledge.

"Probably time for me to wash my hair," she says, reaching again, tempting him. He snatches up the bottle before she can get it and gestures for her to turn her back to him. "I'm not gonna tip you, just so you know."

Loki rolls his eyes and pours the soap into his hands. Darcy's hair is longer and thicker now than when she arrived. It is a strange byproduct of Asgard. Fandral swears there's something in the water. As he works it into her scalp, she moans. "Good with your hands. Should've known." He scratches gently and she practically purrs. When it is done, he taps her shoulder and she dunks under the water, the wavy strands fanning out before she pops back up, ringing it out. He cleans himself quickly while she finishes.

He brushes her hair by the fireside, long strokes like Frigga used to use for him and Thor when they were young, and by the time her hair has dried she's nearly asleep, curled up by his feet in a shift, oblivious to the fact that she's purring. He stands, scooping her into his arms at the same time, and carries her to bed. To his bed.

She smiles up at him from his sheets, soft and sleepy and he aches with the need to kiss her.

When the battle is over, when they have won, he will taste every inch of her skin, will know her with all five senses, will drink her in, and she will truly be his at last. 

In the morning, he knows she is gone before he opens his eyes.

"Jane was looking for her." Frigga is sitting near the window, a basket of work at her feet. "Odin has requested you as well, when Jane is finished with her work this morning."

Loki sits up, rolling his shoulders and stretching his legs. He has not had so satisfying a night of sleep since before Thor's coronation was announced. He moved to the bench and his mother gives him a searching look. "You did not use the potions."

He has made sure there are pencils and scraps of paper stashed everywhere in his rooms now. 

_We bathed and Darcy fell asleep. It was not necessary._

No matter their closeness, he really does not wish to discuss this with her much further. Grabbing for the pot of salve, he smooths it over his lips, working it in between the thread and his lips. There will be scars left when this is over. A further punishment of Odin, a smack at Loki's vanity.

"Jane and Heimdall plan to repair the Bifrost tomorrow. Tonight may be your last chance for -- " Frigga breaks off then, looking at her hands. "For some time. Do not waste it, my son."

_I will do what I believe is best. As always._

He flips the scrap over, hesitating before he writes again.

_Darcy needs to see Sif today. She needs to practice. Tell Sif not to be delicate with her, she should be treated as any other shieldmaid of the guard. Promise me this._

"I will send her there after she sees me. I asked her to come to the workroom when Jane went to meet with you and Odin. Should I also arrange for her absence at the feast tonight?" 

_Only if she wishes it._

Frigga huffs with laughter, but Loki is deadly serious. He will not ask this of Darcy; she must come to him freely and openly, or not at all. He is many things, but not **that**. 

She cups his cheek. "Stubborn boy." Her voice is fond. "If Darcy is not at the feast, I will cover for her absence then. I will not influence her either way."

Loki nods his thanks. Frigga presses her forehead to his as she did when he was very small and they used to share secrets. In those days, dinner time was not spent in the grand hall, but in a small chamber with just Odin, Frigga, Thor, and himself. It feels like a weight is pressing on his chest when he thinks of it now. 

"I will leave you to dress now. Odin will summon you soon." She touches his lips. "Tighten these. He must not see."

_I will not forget._

After she goes, he gets properly dressed and sits at his desk, working at a page of equations until Odin's guard pound on his door. 

Jane is not there when Loki is brought to the throne room. No one is there, save the All-Father, who dismisses the guards with a flick of his eye.

The doors slam closed behind them, and then they are alone, Loki and the man who would have been his father, had Loki ever known how to be this man's son.

"It is ready," Odin says, rising from his throne. "Tomorrow, the Bifrost will be complete once more." 

He walks towards Loki, and Loki wants to watch him, to search his face, but he doesn't want to know what he'll find there. He stares at the floor instead, at Odin's ever-nearing steps, and it is only this warning that keeps him from flinching when Odin puts a finger under his chin and raises it. 

And then Odin brushes his hand across the stitches, and Loki does flinch, because the threads unsew themselves, and it _hurts_.

Odin's fingers are surprisingly gentle as they wipe the blood from Loki's lips.

"Now then," he says, voice echoing in the empty chamber. "Tell me what you have done."

"There is a being. He is coming for the Tesseract," Loki answers, his voice reedy and hoarse after weeks of not speaking. "He is a Destroyer of Worlds and I have betrayed him."

Odin wipes his hands and goes to the small side table. Loki does not know what to say when Odin hands him a cup of water.

"You have a plan. Thor has discussed it with me. But you have not told him everything you plan to do," Odin says, sinking down into his throne. Loki is hit with the memory of sitting in that throne himself, looking down at Sif and the Warriors, Odin's staff heavy in his hand. He flexes his fingers and then remembers the buzzing of the scepter, the way it focused his magic, his rage.

In this, he should tell the truth. "Thor is better off focusing on defending Asgard and its people. Thanos is looking for retribution and I will be his focus."

"You will not," Odin says.

"I--"

"You called yourself Laufeyson. Your mother calls you Friggason. But I still raised you, Loki, and I will do many things for the sake of my realm but I _will not_ leave you to the mercy of--"

"Respectfully, All-Father, it is not your decision--"

"YOU ARE STILL MY SON!"

Loki falls silent, could not speak if his life depended on it. His lips, his tongue, have finally been released, and yet in the face of Odin's -- rage? love? guilt? -- he cannot make a sound.

"You have done many things, many terrible things, and killed many people. You have led Jotuns into the heart of Asgard, you have tricked your brother into banishment, you have attempted genocide, regicide, patricide. Make no mistake, you have deserved every inch of punishment meted out to you, every inch of the punishment your mother talked me out of. And **you are still my son**. You tried to kill yourself, fell through the cracks in the universe, and if you think for one minute that I will allow you to be lost again, you are lacking even the small amount of wit you attribute to your brother."

Loki looks away at last, yanks his gaze from Odin's. "I don't need your pity."

"You do not have it." 

Odin's words ring in the throne room. Loki is torn -- the part of him that would still punish Odin for lying to him, for never truly believing he could be Thor's equal, the part that still, even now, would like to crush the All-Father and make him beg for forgiveness is battering up against the part of him that is weary of all of this. Revenge is an exhausting campaign. And for all he thought he knew, it is clear that there are far worse things lingering out in the dark than Odin and his deceptions.

It is time perhaps, to choose the lesser of two evils.

"Thanos cannot be permitted to acquire the Tesseract. It was my doing that allowed him to find where it had been hidden, so it is my obligation to keep it away from him. Even at the cost of my life."

The words feel strange in his mouth, almost like the coppery taste of blood.

Odin's hand is warm on Loki's shoulder.

"Then you must rest. Save your magic, let it build." He picks up the threads that coiled at Loki's feet, pockets them. "Go on, back to your room with you. I'll have the kitchen send you food tonight."

Loki nods. He should leave this moment be, but -- "I never meant to... " But he finds he cannot finish his sentence. 

It is strange, to see that rueful smile on Odin's face. Loki was sure he would never see it again. "In our long lives, we all do things we regret in the heat of the moment. None of us can forget, but perhaps there is hope that one day, we can forgive." 

A guard appears at Loki's side. "Until the morning then, All-Father."

*

He spends the rest of the afternoon replenishing his magic. His throat is sore from repeated mutterings of incantations, but the headiness of feeling his powers pulse beneath his skin makes up for it in spades. In fact, he is so immersed in restoring himself that he does not notice someone else in the room until there is a hand upon his mouth.

"Oh my God," Darcy says. She is kneeling next to him, fingertips running over the scabs where the thread was. "Did you take them out? Does Odin know? Are you about to get busted down to the dungeons?"

"Darcy," he says, stilling her hand. "I am fine. Odin removed the threads himself." Her shoulders slump forward in relief. "And there are no dungeons here."

Darcy stares at him so long he wonders what he's done wrong. The dungeons? A Midgard custom, now considered barbaric although as far as he can tell their prisons amount mainly to the same thing, above ground. Would she find that more humane? Is it the difference in their cultures, their--

"Say it again?"

"We have no dungeons here," he repeats slowly, certain when Darcy shakes her head that he is about to be on the receiving end of another one of her rants about--

"No," she says, cupping his face between her hands. He cannot read her eyes. "No, say my name. Please. I want to hear--"

"Darcy," he says, and when she laughs and hugs him, he whispers it into her hair. "Darcy, Darcy."

He could say it a million times before the night is out, just to see her smile at him again.

"Darcy."

When she sits back, she punches him in the shoulder. "You fucking scared me. I thought maybe you'd...." She stops herself before she goes on.

"You thought I might have done something foolish?" He catches her hand. It's red and split, wrapped over where she must be getting blisters and calluses from training with Sif.

"It's not so far out of the realm of possibility. Rationality sometimes escapes you," she says, laughing. She touches his mouth again. "Oh my God, I want to kiss you so much. I sound like a thirteen year old girl."

Loki feels his mouth curve into a smile without the ache and pull of the damned stitches. "I would be very happy to indulge you," he says, leaning in close. He can feel the warmth of her breath. "But we're about to be interrupted, I think."

The door bounds back against the wall and Thor comes in, Jane and Frigga behind him.

"What did Father--" Thor stops short, and Loki cannot restrain a snort when Jane walks into his back. Then Thor grabs his chin, and that is not nearly so funny. "Brother, what manner of madness is _this_?"

"Your father's madness," Loki snaps, wrenching away. He can't decide if it hurts more that Thor's fingers gripped his still-healing face, or that Thor used those words. But then, Thor has never understood the meaning of his words, the shadows behind them that lick Loki's feet and threaten to consume him.

"He released you?"

Loki shrugs. "What use is punishment when tomorrow we will all be dead?"

Jane's face crumples and Thor releases him, stepping back.

"Loki," Frigga admonishes him, "you cannot know that."

He presses the back of his hand to his once again bleeding mouth. "It is folly to think otherwise. The bridge will be repaired, but He is coming. For the Tesseract and for his vengeance. I...regret that Asgard will be in his way."

Thor shakes his head. "I refuse to believe it. The armies of Asgard will defeat this interloper. He can bring whatever he likes to our doorstep, but he will die on the Bifrost empty-handed. No Tesseract and he will most certainly not take you."

"Still defending me to my bullies, _Brother_ ," Loki sneers. "I'm afraid this is one you will not be able to best."

"THEN I SHALL DIE TRYING," Thor roars, coming toe to toe with him. Loki's heart is racing, his palms itch for a weapon to strike at Thor's bullish head.

Frigga steps between them. "Boys. This is not the time for quarreling amongst ourselves. If we cannot be united now, then Loki is right. We will have no hope against this enemy."

"There is no hope," Loki says quietly. "Whatever hope you had was a delusion." 

"You did not think so yesterday," Frigga says, her small hand all that is holding Thor back.

Yesterday he had not known Odin would release him. Yesterday his plan had included trickery and lies. Now he knows that Odin will let him fight, let him stand apart from Thor and the others, stand with him, perhaps (can that be?) in defense of the Tesseract. Now he knows he must not, _cannot_ , let Thor think they are fighting together. Let Thor think him a defeatist, a coward. It means he will not follow Loki to the Hall of Treasures, will not stand (fall) over the Tesseract, will have (hah) a fighting chance.

"Yesterday my eyes were as bound as my lips," Loki says. "Or did you think there was no magic in Odin's threads?" He sneers at his mother, and her eyes flash as dark as Thor's, just for a second. Let a second be long enough. Please, let it be enough.

She can forgive him when they are both alive. If such words can be forgiven.

At the very least, she will have to live to hate him.

"Enough." 

Darcy's voice is quiet but firm. In the commotion, he did not realize she had slipped her hand into his and when he goes to speak again, she squeezes, grinding the bones together. She does not have the strength to break them, but Loki snaps his mouth shut.

"Thor, could you give us a minute? Loki and I were in the middle of something when you came in."

Thor too begins to speak, but is stopped by Jane. Under normal circumstances, Loki would laugh himself ill at how the Princes of Asgard have been seemingly tamed by two mortal women. "Of course, Darce. We should've knocked," Jane says, tugging at Thor's arm. "Frigga, you were going to show me your garden. Maybe we can do that before dinner?"

Frigga, ever observant, nods. "That is an excellent suggestion. Thor, you should accompany your intended and I. This conversation can be finished later. When cooler heads may prevail."

"That would be wise, Mother, yes," Thor agrees. "Darcy, I hope -- I apologize for interrupting. Loki." He nods and follows Frigga out of the room, Jane at his side. 

When the door closes, Darcy sighs and drops his hand. "You're an asshole. And you're not as smart as you think you are."

Loki rounds on her, rage tingeing his vision. "Is that right?"

Darcy doesn't back away, doesn't give an inch. "Thor might not be able to see what you're doing, but I do. Making him angry at you so you can do something stupid on your own? Great plan."

"Works every time." 

Loki grins at her, angry, baring his teeth. His gums are still coated with blood, and she flinches, but rallies quickly enough to -- almost -- impress him. "Thor cares about you, and whether you want to admit it or not, you love him back. This thing you have going, it may work, but there's only so long he'll stand being manipulated before some of that love is going to get tinged with anger and hatred."

"He's stood it for a few thousand years, _mortal_."

Darcy just stares at him, impassive. "Then you might want to stop acting like a three year-old, moron."

His fist flexes for a brief moment and to his great surprise, Darcy laughs. "You are so fucking smart, but man, you and Jane, both of of you lack common sense. This thing you're doing? It didn't work out so well last time, did it?"

"Do not push me, Miss Lewis," he hisses. But she's scored a palpable hit and as angry as he is, he is also impressed.

She looks away, shaking her head. "Miss Lewis now, huh? Right." Darcy does take a step away this time and only decades of self restraint keep him from grabbing her. "I'm going to go and get cleaned up, change out of these clothes. I'll give you some time to think and hope that I'll still be welcome when I come back later." Leaning up on her toes, she brushes her lips against the corner of his mouth. 

Loki stays frozen in place until the door shuts and he can no longer hear the echo of her steps in the corridor.

*

Odin has the guards send him food. He eats sparingly, despite his hunger, knows that to overindulge will only lead to sickness, but the food sits warm and full in his stomach and it takes all his willpower not to fall asleep before Darcy returns. Instead, he sits at his bay window, nibbling on fruit and watching the shadows lengthen.

Darcy's footsteps are muffled against the carpet, but he hears her coming and has steeled himself by the time she has crossed the room. And then she rests a gentle hand on his back, and the fight drains out of him.

He knows what he has to do, to say, what weeks of plans and forethought require, and yet. He cannot go into battle tomorrow and have her angry with him. He cannot lose her to Thanos, still the mostly likely outcome, cannot watch her scream and writhe and die in agony, and know she hates him. 

He turns his face into her, trying suddenly to hold back unexpected tears. Darcy runs her fingers through his hair, kisses his ear. "You idiot," she whispers, "don't you know I love you?"

Even as she claims his lips, Loki reaches for the pitcher of wine, and his goblet.

His mouth is still oversensitive, but Darcy's kiss is firm and tastes of honeyed mead from the hall. Loki sucks at her bottom lip, until she lets out a breathless moan. Her mouth opens and he licks inside, deepening their kiss. Darcy's fingers curl in the fabric of his tunic and he feels dizzy from want. When she breaks away, her eyes are wide, mouth swollen "That was worth waiting for," she says.

Loki pours a mouthful of wine into the goblet and offers it to her.

Darcy takes it and smiles. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to get me drunk." Her eyes stay on his as she drinks, chasing the last drops on the rim. "Give me the pitcher. It's your turn now."

He startles with surprise and fumbles the wine. "You -- you know?"

Darcy sets the goblet on the windowsill, takes the pitcher from his hand, and pours. "That this is sort of the Asgardian equivalent of an engagement ring? I didn't the first time, but I read a bunch of books from your mom's workroom -- rites and customs and things like that -- and found it. Also, Jane and Thor are getting married and Jane's my best friend. I heard _all_ about it." She hands him the goblet back and bites her lip. "I offer this shared cup to you, my beloved. Will you drink?"

Loki reaches for her hand, running his thumb over the new, rough calluses on her palm. He should heal them so they will not bother her tomorrow. Darcy's hand is actually trembling, as she thinks after all this, he might refuse her.

"I will drink and therefore promise myself to you, body and soul, until the Great Tree crumbles to dust." 

Eyes steady on hers, he takes the goblet and drains it in one long gulp. Darcy kisses him again, mouth sweet and warm beneath his.

"Tastes better coming from you," she murmurs when they break away. Loki kisses her palm, her fingers, drawing them raw into his mouth and healing them silently. Her skin is soft and yielding, and she shivers as he licks her wrist, her forearm, elbow.

"Darcy," he whispers, "Beloved."

She uncurls her legs and stands up. "This bench is nice, but you have a bed and we should definitely take advantage of it." When she turns, he sees that the dress she's wearing is open in the back, the paleness of her skin a contrast to the dark purple fabric. Something clenches in his gut, knowing other people have seen her, looked at her, thought about how she might feel under them, how she would taste.

Darcy stops at the edge of the bed when she realizes he's not following her. "What?"

In two strides, he is there, hands curling around her arms and dragging her into a bruising kiss. If this night is to be the only one he spends with her, Loki is determined to make sure that if she is ever with another, she will always think of him.

"Hey," she says when they break apart, Loki moving from her lips to her cheeks, the nape of her neck. "Hi."

Her skin is flushed, warm beneath his fingers. He lets them tinge with blue, raising goosebumps that he licks and blows soft air across. Darcy shivers, reaches for his shirt to slide her own fingers underneath it. He uses her distraction to untie her dress, and when the purple fabric pools at her feet she grins at him, stark naked.

Loki lifts her in his arms and onto the bed.

"Did you go to dinner like that?" He kneels, stripping his tunic off and tossing to the floor. "Did you sit at Odin's table in only that gown?"

Her smile gets wider as she sprawls herself against the pillows. "I figured if they forced you to join us, I could whisper it in your ear and try to get to you to smile." 

Loki eases himself down next to her. Allowing his magic to pulse through his fingertips, they stay blue as they sweep across her stomach, over the curve of her hip. There's a scar there and when he touches is, Darcy squirms. "Got my appendix out when I was twelve. Worst Christmas break ever." Her body has changed since she has been here -- her muscles are leaner, more defined. There are a smattering of bruises and scrapes on her thighs, her ribs, her knees. Loki catalogues each one as he heals them. The only marks she will have tomorrow will be from him.

"Stay," he murmurs, going to the bathing room for massage oils. 

Darcy calls after him, "bring the potion," and oh, he knew what was coming, tonight, but it hits him all over again, and his feet stutter, just once. It is enough for her to laugh softly as he disappears behind the door. When he returns, she has propped herself up on her elbows, her body glorious, available, _his_. 

"Gimme," Darcy says, and he watches the smooth line of her throat as she swallows the contraceptive. She is beautiful.

Loki finds a lump in his throat, suddenly, and busies himself by coating a hand in oil and reaching for her foot.

"Oh my Goooooood," Darcy groans as he presses his thumb into the ball of her foot. Her shoulders fall back and he is treated to the sight of her whole body relaxing. "Talk to me. I want to hear your voice."

Loki chuckles. "This used to be a tradition for the warriors of Asgard. The night before a battle, the healers would go to the barracks with oils and treat injuries and massage the warriors until their bodies were so finely tuned that there was no way they could lose a fight. It was said that no one slept as well in Asgard as the night before we marched off to war."

"Just massages, huh?" Darcy asks as his hand slides up her calf. Her legs fall open and he can see a hint of pink hidden by the dark curls between her thighs. His mouth waters, but he resists the temptation. For now.

He clears his throat and meets her eyes. "From the healers, yes. Whatever other methods of relaxation a warrior chose to indulge in was their business."

"And did you? Indulge?" The question sounds lighthearted, but Loki knows it is more complicated than that.

"There has only been once such battle since Thor and I were of age to join the ranks of the army. And yes, I did take someone to my bed." He could lie, probably _should_ have lied, but he doesn't think he would get the same sort of satisfaction from deceiving her as he would with anyone else.

"She can't have you," Darcy says, voice firm. "You're mine now."

"Gladly." He runs his hands up her leg, then starts anew with her other foot.

"Tease," Darcy says, poking him with her toe.

Loki grins at her, unrepentant. "I am not known as a trickster for nothing, beloved."

"How is your mojo? You get it all back?" She asks this as she stretches her arms over her head. Loki concentrates on the knotted muscle in her calf and not the arch of her back.

"My magic is back, yes. Spending this afternoon alone was beneficial to me. The last time I had been without it for so long was -- " He stops himself from finishing that thought. The last thing he wants to think about is the curdling blackness of space, the numbness of his body, his mind before The Other found him.

Darcy sits up then, slipping out of his grasp. "Don't. Don't think about that now. Not tonight, okay?" She cups the back of his head and kisses him gently. "Those are gonna be some wicked scars," she says, running her thumb over edges of his lips. "Kind of badass."

"They will fade in time," he says.

"Most scars do." Darcy twists in his arms, lies down on her stomach. She smiles at him over her shoulder, one eyebrow arched. "Well?"

Loki runs a hand along her back, and starts to knead. He wants to give her this, to follow the healing rites, but oh, he wants so much more to put his hands to other uses.

If he had any skills with charcoal or a brush, this is how he would want to capture her. Lying with her head pillowed on her hand, the rounded curves of her shoulder blades, the pattern of freckles on her ribs. 

When he presses on her lower back, below where her dress exposed, Darcy hisses in pain. "Sorry. Hogun caught me in the back with the flat side of his sword this afternoon."

"Do not apologize," he says, leaning down to press a kiss to the dip there, whispering a healing spell as his thumbs sweep over her skin.

He moves from her back, lower, to her buttocks, and it could be sexual -- _is_ sensual -- but he is also easing tired muscles, paving the way for a better fight tomorrow. And before she can get any ideas, he turns to her arms, her hands, and carefully imbues her skin with all the healing he can manage. It won't hold off a sword-blow, but it will keep small cuts and nicks from slowing her, maybe give the edge she'll need as a beginning swordsman. And then, then he has done the best he can to keep her safe, and now she is his to relax in other ways.

He smiles, fans a hand across her stomach, and lowers his head to her breast.

Darcy arches into his touch, his lips, her moan nearly as delicious as she is.

He uses his tongue and his teeth, drawing his name from her mouth. Her hips are restless, squirming and arching up for contact. Loki bites down gently, tugging at her nipple as he slips his hand between her legs.

"Oh God, Loki," Darcy stutters, biting her lip. "Please."

The way her voice breaks makes him feel hot all over. He wishes they could run, leave Asgard to its fate and go someplace where he could do everything he wants to her, make her beg him for release until she is hoarse. And then he would put himself into her hands and let her do the same to him.

There will be time enough for that two days from now, should both of them be alive.

Should she be dead, nothing else will matter.

He works a second finger inside her, twisting, brushes his thumb across her dark curls. He _wants_ , too much to make her wait. To make her plead, when they have not time for pleading. They need to rest before tomorrow, but he will see her boneless with pleasure before he sleeps. 

"Silvertongue, right? You should earn your nickname," she says, pulling his hair.

"You are quite demanding," he replies with a smirk, pressing his thumb to her clit. 

"Damn right I am. And I'll be very happy to repay the favor." Darcy licks the corner of her mouth provocatively and Loki feels an answering throb from between his legs. 

He bends his head to her body, follows his fingers with a lick of his tongue, and is rewarded when Darcy bites back a cry. He presses her hips down firmly, but she bucks helplessly against his mouth as he flicks back and forth, in and out. He tilts a fingertip, pushes it further inside her and scrapes with a blunt nail, at the same time moving from tongue to mouth. She is salty and sweet on his tongue, her skin pulsing beneath his lips as she convulses.

Letting his eyes shut, he tries to memorize the taste of her bursting across his tongue, the sound of her harsh breathing, and the feel of the smooth skin of her thigh against his cheek. There will be more to take in as the night goes on, but he wants this to hold onto when the bleakness threatens to take hold of him.

"Loki, Loki," he hears and looks up her body with what he hopes is his most innocent face. 

"Yes, my love?" He crooks his fingers and Darcy's eyes flutter closed for a moment.

"Come up here," she says, tugs gently at his hair.

He hums against her skin, laughs at the groan she fails entirely to hide. "Soon," he tells her, counts her pulse slowing against his lips, "I'm otherwise occupied at the moment."

Her heartbeat speeds up, and her fingers, tangled in his hair, tug for an entirely different reason. Loki smiles.

He redoubles his efforts, lapping at her as he stretches her with a third finger inside. It has been some time since he felt like making this much effort to please his bed partner and he prefers to revel in it as long as possible.

Darcy's thighs press around him and when she comes a second time, her heels dig into the mattress for purchase. There is a thin sheen of sweat on her brow and her lips are red from being bitten. Loki lets her drag him up then and she kisses him hard and messy.

And then her legs fall open, inviting, and he is the one who stutters.

"Darcy, beloved, are you--"

"Yes," she tells him, "yes." She bites his earlobe, swirls her tongue around it, whispers, "I want to make you scream and fall apart inside me," and _oh_ , Loki wants that too.

"Off, off, off, God, how are you still even wearing these," she asks, shoving him over onto his back and pulling off his thin, linen pants. He smiles as she reaches over to the little side table and hands him a vial. "Your turn. We're not taking any chances."

He uncaps the vial and swallows it, dropping his hand to rest over her stomach. _If_ and _when_ ring in his ears but he pushes that all away when Darcy swings her leg over him, straddling his hips. "Darcy," he says as she takes the vial from his suddenly nerveless fingers and tosses back on the table. "You are so..."

"Incredibly perfect? I know." She grins down at him, face framed by long brown curls. Loki reaches a hand up to cup her cheek, brushes a thumb over her lips, because she is, _incredible_ , and _gorgeous_ , and _his_. And then she lowers herself onto him, warm and wet and he loses the capacity for rational thought, and Darcy begins to sway.

Loki's hands tighten on her hips. He should have been prepared for how tight and slick she was going to be, but he is not. And whatever she's doing, the little figure eight swivel as she takes him all the way inside her, is maddening. She drops one hand down next to his shoulder to get her balance. "Good?"

"Very," Loki manages to get out. He lets one hand glide up her ribs to cup her breast. Her nipple hardens against his palm and he rolls it between his fingers. Darcy sucks in a breath and clenches around him.

"Tomorrow night," she says, splaying a hand across his stomach, "I want you to fuck me into the mattress."

Loki jerks at that, eyes flying to hers.

Darcy rolls her hips and adds, "'Till I can't stand."

"Darcy," he says again, voice cracking.

"No," she says, pressing down on him, catching his wrist in her hands. Her hair drops over her shoulder and the shadows on her face from the lamps and fire make her look fierce and wild. "Tomorrow night, or however long this battle takes, when it's over, you and I are going to come back here and fuck until neither of us can move. Promise me, Loki. Promise me that's what's going to happen."

His voice is low, barely a whisper, but for the life of him he cannot stop himself. "I promise."

She kisses him then, desperate and sweet, his beautiful Darcy, still rocking back and forth, driving him to distraction and so, so lovely, and young, and needy.

"I promise."

He takes advantage of her distraction and rolls them over until Darcy's on her back. Her cheeks are flushed pink from exertion and he lets his magic out, touching cool, blue fingertips to them. She shivers and moans, bucking her hips up. "Loki, come on," she says.

"As you wish, beloved," he answers, snapping his hips. She wraps her arms around him, fingernails digging into his shoulder blade as he thrusts into her hard. 

He dips down and kisses her collarbone, grazes her shoulder with his teeth, where no one will see the mark come morning. Darcy tilts her hips, matching his movement with short thrusts of her own. She clenches around him, pulling him deeper; he isn't going to last long, not like this.

"Stop thinking, stop worrying about if you're going to hurt me and fuck me," she growls, dragging her nails down his spine and clenching down around him. "Please."

It's the way she says it that gets him. Darcy has put on a brave front, trained with Sif, stood up to him, but he knows she must be terrified. She has never fought and certainly never against anything like the army Thanos will bring. She is clinging to hope as desperately as he is.

So he gives it to her.

He lets himself go, lets himself pound into her, until he forgets where he stops and Darcy begins. He is hers anyway, and she is his, warm and inviting and pulled tight around him, panting in his ear and sweat on his brow and finger pricks of pain digging into the small of his back and when he feels her fall off the edge he follows her, into the white-hot heat of pleasure and joy and _Darcy_.

Only later, after he has kissed her again until his lungs burn for air, does he untangle himself from her. "Don't," she says, rolling to her side.

"I'm just going to get a cloth and the rest of the wine," he says, stroking her cheek. Darcy nods, curling into herself and looking out toward the window. 

In the bathing chamber, he laughs at his reflection. His neck is mottled with little sucking bruises and his back is scored with nail marks. He heals the scratches superficially and does nothing to the bruises at all. The collar on his armor will hide them well enough.

He is gentle with Darcy, cleaning them both, and as he rubs the cloth over her skin he removes any marks that might otherwise be visible. And then he watches her sip from his goblet, again, eyes steady on his face as he does the same, and he pulls her into his arms.

"You should sleep."

Darcy grumbles, because for both of them the morning will come too soon, and with it fear and uncertainty and battle. He sings to her then, a children's lullaby though she doesn't have to know that, one his mother would use to put him to sleep on the eve of some celebration, when he was restless and overtired. The magic washes over her, pulling her down. Loki keeps singing, lets it carry him off as well, because Darcy is not the only one who needs to rest.

Tomorrow, and all the tomorrows after, he will be able to stay awake as long as he desires, watching her breath rise and fall, but to get there he needs to survive, and he is realistic enough to put that before romance.

He drifts, from words, to humming, to sleep.

*

_There is an army. He sees what is left of the Chitauri, sees Frost Giants on one side, a contingent of Fire Demons on the other. In between there are Dark Elves and Dwarves. It is by no means the largest army that Asgard has faced. But it will surely be the most bloodthirsty. Thanos is no fool._

_"This is what your pride has wrought, Loki of Asgard. The only realm you call home will be ashes before this day is through."_

_The voice slithers down Loki's spine like acid and he --_

He jerks awake, gasping. Half a dream, half a vision. Staring at the ceiling, he tries to calm his racing heart before Darcy wakes. It is too early, barely dawn. No one will come to wake them for a few more hours still.

That is fine. Thanos, in trying to intimidate him, has shown his hand too soon. 

And then Loki does the one thing he has put off ever thinking about having to do, even when he allowed himself to dream of maybe, perhaps, one day in the long-distant future, no longer hating Thor, even then.

He kisses Darcy's cheek, and leaves her bed to go in search of Odin.

His contingent of guards still trail behind him, but they remain outside the door when he enters Odin's private chambers. The All-Father is sitting near the fire, a steaming cup at his elbow. To Loki's great surprise, Thor is also there. He is sitting in the same chair as he has since they were small boys. He looks surprised at Loki's appearance, but Odin does not.

"A war council then this morning. It has been some time," Odin says, drinking. "Your mother is still abed, so you will both keep your tongues civil."

Thor looks down at the floor. "Of course, Father."

"I will," Loki replies. "May I sit?"

Odin shakes his head. "You do not have to ask to sit in the chair that will always belong to you."

Loki hesitates, nonetheless. This is harder than the other things. Odin's hurts run deeper, and are not so easily appeased. But in the end, this is a war council, and he needs these men, his would-be father and the brother he cannot get rid of, he needs them on his side. 

So he sits, runs his fingers over the smooth wood that fits his palms like no time has passed at all. Like he still belongs there. Here. in Asgard.

Would it fit so well if he let his true form show? 

"Thanos comes already," he tells them, instead, because this of all times is not the time for games. "And he brings a coalition of enemies to destroy us."

"What sort of enemies?" Thor asks, sitting forward. "How can you know this?"

"The Chitauri -- what is left of them -- a band of Frost Giants, Fire Demons, Dark Elves, and Dwarves. They are not a massive force, but they are angry and they are deadly. He has done well to cull the Nine Realms for the enemies of Asgard." Loki feels shame churning in his stomach. He _hates_ it.

Odin leans back in his chair. "He is a fine general then. It is what I would have done. He wants the Tesseract and the other parties will seek the contents of the Vault. Each faction has something to recover."

"But Loki, how do you know?" Thor repeats.

Loki sighs, pressing his fingers to his temples. "Through dreams. Thanos, when we were allied, was able to shift me from dimension to dimension by means of the scepter. Without it, he is only able to access my mind when I sleep. It is something of a backdoor, a failsafe, as Jane might call it. I believe he seeks to drive me mad."

"He controlled you?" Thor says, because of course he focuses on the one thing that has no meaning, not here, not now.

Odin speaks over him, and it is to Odin that Loki bends his ear. "What would you do for Asgard?"

"Anything," Loki says.

"If I asked you to take the Casket of Ancient Wint--"

"No," Thor cries, but Loki thinks of Darcy, still asleep, ready to risk her life for him, for his family, for a land she barely knows.

"Father," Thor says, "Father, no."

But Loki tells him, "Yes."

"Brother, it will expose you! I cannot let you -- " Thor grabs for his arm and Loki snarls, letting his bared forearm turn dark blue. He expects Thor to snatch his hand away in disgust, but he only grips him tighter. "Loki."

"Thor," Odin says, seemingly unbothered by this display, "Loki can control the casket. He is more than a mere Jotun warrior." He glances to Loki's arm that has seeped back to his usual pale form. "Are you very sure?"

Loki nods. "I am. There is no other way."

"We are agreed. Thor, after breakfast, you will inform Sif, the Warriors, and the army. I leave this alteration in the battle plan to you. Lady Jane and Lady Darcy will join us at the Observatory. I will alert Heimdall, but I suspect he has gathered some of this already. Dwarves are not known for their subtleties." Odin glances at the closed door over Loki's shoulder. "I will inform your mother. She will take Jane to safety. And Darcy, if she will go."

At that, Loki shakes his head. "I fear she cannot be reasoned with. She will insist on staying to fight."

"A commendable spirit," Odin comments. "It will be a joy to see her join our family."

Loki should not be surprised, not really. Odin's sight only improved when he lost his eye, and in any event this is not something Frigga would keep silent about. Not once she saw her son back in Odin's graces.

"A discussion for tomorrow."

He can see Thor looking at him, assessing him in a way that makes Loki want to squirm. 

"If that is all, I believe we all have people to get back to," Odin says. "This morning will be short enough as it is." He picks his cup back up, a clear dismissal. Loki leaves, Thor right behind him. Once the chamber doors are shut though, Thor stops him.

"Loki. You and Darcy. I knew you had grown close, but -- "

Concise and to the point usually ends conversations with Thor the quickest. "We are promised. We have shared the wine three times and spoken the oath." He thinks about her, curled up right now in his sheets. "Is that all?"

"Does she make you happy, Brother?" Thor asks, genuine care in his voice. 

"I--" Loki looks away, shields his eyes from Thor's gaze. "I need her," he admits.

Thor's hand is warm on his shoulder when he tells him, "I am glad." He turns Loki's face towards his, kisses each cheek and Loki's forehead. "I rejoice for thee, my brother."

"Still a discussion for tomorrow," Loki says. 

Thor merely laughs, and escorts him back to his room.

"We will meet you in the entry hall," Thor says, turning to go toward his own set of rooms. Loki almost lets him leave, but -- 

"Thor. I am happy for you. Jane is..." He trails off, not quite sure how to finish.

But Thor nods, a smile on his face. "Aye. She is quite indescribable. I am lucky. We both are." He claps Loki's shoulder. "I will see you later then, Brother."

Loki slips back into his rooms as silently as he can, but finds Darcy awake. She is wrapped in a sheet and curled on the bench. The windows are thrown open and the early morning breeze is fine and sweet. It will be a beautiful day. When she hears him, she looks over her shoulder. "Thought you snuck out on me."

Loki frowns. "You think me so churlish?"

"Not like that," Darcy says. "Babe, don't be stupid. C'mere."

He pads slowly across the room. "C' _mere_ ," Darcy urges, tugging his hand until he sits and she can wriggle onto his lap. "You asked me to marry you. Sort of, in a weird alien way. I'm not worried about abandonment. Do Asgardians even _do_ the whole wham-bam deal? Seems like a bad idea when you all live forever. Lots of time for lots of bad feelings to fester." 

Loki shifts until he can hold her the way he wants and kisses the back of her neck. "Usually people here make casual arrangements very clear from the start." He tightens his arms around her. "I went to speak with Odin. Thanos appeared to me as I slept. I have seen what he intends to bring through the portal. Luckily, Thor was also there. We revised our plan of attack."

"Will he ever not be able to do that?"

"I am not sure." Loki swallows hard. He has told no one what he is about to confess. Not even Frigga. "When I fell -- there are no words to describe what it is like. By the time I landed, I was more than halfway to mad. I sought refuge and had I been in control of myself, I would not have allied myself with Thanos as I did. I was sure I would be able to best him, take the Tesseract for myself and turn it on him. He is... insidious. He can tap into the worst, darkest part of you and amplify it. And he does it entirely without magic. It is a unique and terrifying skill." 

Darcy is silent, but she has not pulled away from him.

"The feelings -- the bitterness, the anger, that white hot need for revenge at any cost -- they were already there. It is no use denying it. But when I look back, I see what easy prey I was to one such as him. How weak I must have seemed."

"You are _not_ weak," Darcy says flatly.

"No," Loki says. "But I must have seemed so, to one such as Thanos. He is -- are you truly certain you will not go with Mother and Jane?"

Darcy doesn't even answer him, just elbows him in the stomach. 

"Ask me that one more time and see what happens."

Loki sighs. "Then I must beg another favor of you."

"You're not going to ask me to iron your shirts or never have a job or something, are you? Because that's a dealbreaker."

"I would never," he says with a snort. He nudges her aside and grabs the little silk bag from his desk. When he drops it in her lap, Darcy gives him a look.

"Is this an engagement present? Because I didn't really have time to get you anything..."

"I would have given it to you even if we had not pledged ourselves."

She tumbles the pendant into her hand. The green gemstone is flat, the surface clouded. It is surrounded by a band of gold and hung on a thin strip of leather. Darcy runs her thumb over it. "The swirls," she says, "they're...moving."

"It is an amulet of protection. I have done what I can, but it will not save you from death. It does, however, have a charm on it. If you are in mortal peril and there is no help, hold it in your hand and call for Frigga. It will home in on my mother's magic and transport you to her."

She doesn't respond verbally, but she does lift her hair off her neck and allow him to clasp the pendant to her. It is a small measure of comfort.

After that, the morning passes in a blur of preparation -- food, farewells, and forcefulness, his mother called it the one time he went to war before. And then Loki blinks, and he is in the Vault, the truth of his heritage staring him in the face.

With the Casket he could rule the Nine Realms. Laufey had certainly tried, but Loki has already proven smarter than Laufey. He could freeze all of Asgard if he desired. He could make the humans kneel and squirm and beg for mercy.

Or, he could save this world, and all the people in it, from the demon he has brought into their midst.

Choices, choices.

He thinks of Darcy, so beautiful when last he saw her, sword buckled at her waist and one last kiss bruising her lips. He thinks of Frigga, spiriting Jane to safety, of Thor, who clasped his hand and kissed his cheeks and rejoiced in Loki's happiness. He thinks of Odin, and of threads. He thinks of the darkness, the abyss, of Thanos and the scepter and--

He lifts the Casket, and his skin turns blue.

The power of it floods through him. Every ounce of his magic seems magnified. The tiny space in the back of his head, the hole that Thanos carved out with the scepter heals over.

He sends his shade out to the Observatory. They have all arrived there and Jane and Heimdall are fitting the Tesseract device to the dais in the center. Thor and Odin stand at the door like sentries. Darcy is to their right, Frigga's hand on her shoulder. It would be so easy to snatch them both and flee. Darcy turns, smiles at Thor when he says something and Loki sees a flash of gold mail -- something she was not wearing when he left her.

With a single thought, he shrinks the casket to fit in his palm. He blinks, exhales, and when he opens his eyes again, he is inside the Observatory, across from Darcy.

"Loki," Odin says, "do not linger in the shadows."

With that, he steps into the light, dark blue skin exposed, red tinged eyes focused on the spot where the Bifrost should reappear. "We cannot delay. Heimdall, if you please."

Heimdall says nothing, but Jane goes to his mother's side, and when she is out of the way, he shoves his sword into the center of the Tesseract and activates the device.

Thanos is waiting.

Thanos and his hordes, his conglomeration of allies and peons and those who would be men.

Thanos is waiting, but so is Asgard.

So is Loki.

The rainbow bridge begins to reknit itself, bright and gleaming in the sunlight. Loki sees Sif and a contingent of soldiers already moving forward. But he is busy watching the fine crack that is appearing out of thin air behind Heimdall. Thanos is clever indeed.

"Gatekeeper, move," he calls as the first wave, Chitauri, rip through. Loki freezes and shatters them with a lazy flick of his wrist.

Across the room, Darcy smiles.

Then the Frost Giants come, the Jotun, and when they see him, see what he is holding, their red eyes widen in shock and hope. And they turn on the Dark Elves, in unison, icy blades glittering in the Asgardian sun.

"Traitors!" The Elves draw their own blades and the battle begins in earnest.

Chaos.

It illuminates all around him. Loki draws his knives and slices open the throats of two Elves that are advancing on Thor, who is battling a pair of Frost Giants. Frigga and Jane are gone, but he catches sight of Darcy near Sif, her sword black with blood.

"Laufeyson," one of the Frost Giants calls, the one wearing a royal sash, "you traitorous scum. Thanos says you are his, but your head will look fine mounted on my wall."

"Sorry, not happening," a voice from behind the Frost Giant says, blade piercing through his chest. When he crumples, Darcy pulls her sword back and winks at him.

The Casket will do nothing to the Jotun (except inflame their desire to kill him and take it), but the Fire Demons fall before him, too many dead for him to keep count of. And still he sees no sign of Thanos.

The Asgardians beat back the Elves, but the Dwarves come rushing through, fresh and ready for battle, and still he sees nothing. 

The Rainbow Bridge is slick and dark now, still. Nothing.

He feels a prickle at the back of his neck and when he turns, Thanos is there.

So is Thor, pinned to the wall, Thanos' fist at his throat. Thor is struggling to breath, the arm clutching Mjolnir hanging limply at his side. "Is this not what you wanted?" Thanos asks. "Thor dead, Asgard in ruins to claim as your own."

In the reflection of the wall overhead, Loki sees that Odin is holding Sif and the Warriors at bay. He is trusting Loki. 

Darcy is nowhere to be seen. Heimdall has released his sword from the machine with the Tesseract.

"Asgard is not fit for my rule anymore. What good are a people that will never swear themselves to me? Thor is weak. He would marry a mortal."

Thor's eyes go wide with hurt. "Bro-other," he gasps.

Loki throws his knife over his shoulder at the last of the Dwarves, his eyes never leaving Thanos. "You have come to claim what is owed to you."

"The universe is owed to me," Thanos says, tightening his hand. "Asgard is owed to me. Earth, which you swore to deliver, is _owed_ to me. And you, Loki Laufeyson, by the forfeit of your oath, are mine to do with as I please. Your heart to crush, your head to play with, your mind to destroy. You are very much _owed_ to me."

"Then come and get me."

Thanos releases Thor with a snort and advances, eyes aflame. He swings one gauntlet forwards, energy shooting from his hand. "You are mine now, Loki Laufeyson."

"The name," Loki says, "is Friggason." And he stabs Thanos from behind with a sword of ice, twists it until his whole body is frozen solid. Only then does he turn to his brother, and offer him a hand to pull him to his feet. Where they touch, Loki's skin turns pale again, a mimicry of an Asgardian prince. 

Thor looks down at their clasped fingers. "Brother?"

"Works every time," Loki says, and lets him go.

After that, the battle is merely clean up. Volstagg and Hogun take turns tossing the last of the dwarves back through the tear that Thanos had made.

"And what of him?" Thor asks, circling the frozen body carefully. Loki can see Thanos' eyes tracking him through the layers of ice. 

"Bind him," Odin says, handing Loki Gungnir. "My spear can tap into magic far more powerful than yours alone."

Loki is surprised to see that his hand is shaking. The last time he held Odin's spear....

"Once he is bound, the Tesseract can be used to send him far into the reaches of space," Heimdall says. "If he can break the enchantments, it will take centuries to find his way back here."

Loki nods, raises Gungnir, but there is something wrong.

"Where is Darcy?"

Thanos' frozen face laughs at him, he can tell, and Heimdall is silent.

"Loki."

He looks at Odin, hands shaking. "Where is she?"

"With Frigga," Odin says, and Loki, Loki can read that story in the All-Father's eye, can see her fall, her cry for help, Frigga coming, too late, too late, why did he ever think she could survive this day, why, when his life has ever been shadow and pain and the last time he held this spear, the _last time_...

Gungnir falls the to ground with a clatter, the Casket following it.

"Please," Loki whispers, surprised to find he is on his knees, "please don't make me. Please, Father, I need -- I-- "

"You must finish this, son," Odin says. It is an order, but his voice is not harsh. "If you cannot, you will never have peace. You will spend every waking moment looking over your shoulder. The safety of this realm, of Midgard too, depends on it."

But it will have been for nothing, Loki realizes. If she is...dead, then everything he has tried to learn, all the rage and anger will flow back through him and there will be no turning back. Loki will search every inch of space and time and rip Thanos apart with his bare hands.

He does not realize he is crying until Thor drops to his knees beside him. "I do not know what has happened, but she would want you see this through. Please, Brother. You must, if for no one else but Darcy."

Thor's hand is warm on his shoulder, strong and golden, and Loki wants nothing so much as to be a babe again, to believe that hand can make everything alright, that his father will fix anything Thor cannot, that his mother will be waiting with open arms and a smile filled with love and mystery. 

Love is for children, and Loki, Loki is not a child. Not anymore.

He watches his hands turn blue from the Casket's touch, watches Jotun fingers grip the spear of the King of Asgard. And then he stabs Thanos with all the force of his rage and grief and black despair, and binds him to a world so far away that it will take a thousand years or more for the light from its star to reach Asgard. A star that has long since been destroyed, so Thanos will have even that pleasure denied him, Destroyer of Worlds. 

He throws every ounce of magic left in him through the spell, every extra bit the Casket and Gungnir grant him, so much so that even when he thrusts them into Odin's hands, he does not have the strength to change his skin, to look like anything but the nightmare he has tried so long to cease becoming.

"Take me to her," he says, "wherever she may be."

*

He wakes to a gentle touch on his cheek.

"Please tell me I'm not having some kind of super magic fever dream."

Darcy's eyes are open. She is speaking to him. All the words he has been holding onto seem to be lodged in the back of his throat. He shakes his head instead.

"Okay, I have to admit, I have no idea where we are. I did promise Jane I'd stop doing the blackout drunk thing, so I think I owe her fifty bucks now." She tries to sit up, but sucks in a sharp breath. "Oh, also stitches. That's extra."

"Darcy," he croaks, knees creaking as he unfolds himself from the chair where he has been watching over her. "Darcy."

She nods slowly. "Yeah, I'm Darcy, you're Loki. Did you end up with a concussion?" Slowly, she scoots over, patting the bed. "You're kind of far away right now."

Loki climbs into the bed with her, careful not to jostle her. Her hand comes back up to his face and he turns into her touch, kissing the palm of her hand. "We are on Vanaheim. This is Mother's family home. You've been asleep for seven days."

"Did we win?"

Loki thought he'd covered that with _Vanaheim_ and _seven days_ , but after all, Darcy has never been to war before. But she is here, now, awake and alive and _his_ and--

"Yes," Loki says. "We won."

"Good. I think I missed the third act, though. Sorry about that." Her face is so very pale and there are still bruises under her eyes. Her fingers curl around his and squeeze. "Thanos," she says, gesturing to her torso. "He said he could smell your magic all over me. I maybe shouldn't have made that crack about his skin. That's when he -- " She slices her hand through the air and makes a swishing sound. "I lost my sword too, I think."

He has seen her wound. He made Frigga show it to him. It is a jagged, diagonal slice across her stomach. It makes him sick to think that one of the pools of blood on the Observatory floor was hers. When he had not been watching over her, he has been poring over the books in the library to find a spell to heal the scar. 

"Sif recovered it, I think," is what he says instead. "I -- I am glad the charm worked."

Darcy chuckles weakly. "Yeah, I don't think Frigga expected me to appear in the middle of her floor holding my guts together. Jane fainted."

"An understandable response," is all he can manage to say.

"Hey." Darcy's fingers tighten in his. "I'm here, okay? I'm here, I'm going to be fine, it's all good, babe."

He is not going to cry. He is a grown man, by any world's definition, a prince of two, and Darcy is correct, she will be fine, eventually, except in the way that war, that killing, touches anyone, but that is nothing new on Asgard, and he will find a way to remove the scar, he will, and they will marry, and she will be his forever, and he is not going to cry.

Except of course that forever is so much shorter for humans, and he nearly lost her, his beautiful, amazing, _idiotic_ \--

"It's okay," Darcy says again, over and over, while Loki shakes apart. "I'm here. I'm here."

When he has pulled himself together, Darcy pointedly ignoring the damp spot on her collarbone where his face was pressed, he kisses her cheek. "I hate this," he mutters.

"What?"

"This business of...feelings."

She turns her head and there is laughter in her eyes. "Well, tough luck. I don't know if you've noticed, but I have plenty of feelings, all the time."

"And never quietly."

A half hearted elbow lands in his ribs. "Can we talk about something else? While I'm all laid up and pathetic?" Loki tenses and Darcy tries to turn on her side, but can't. Her face twists into an uncomfortable grimace. "Ugh, God. I hate this already. C'mere." He curls into her as close as he can and she kisses his mouth. "You turned blue."

He stills, body as immobile as stone -- or the ice that it belongs in. He had been sure she knew, sure someone must have told her when she arrived in Asgard. Surely, when she shivered at his cold fingertips. She had spent weeks, months -- with people who _hated_ \-- surely someone must have said something? Fandral, or the Lady Sif?

"My greatest trick," he says, at last, rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling. His voice is light, mocking, and it takes every ounce of strength he has rebuilt in the seven days since Thanos fell. "Beloved, you have engaged yourself to marry a monster. I should have warned you, I know, but. Well, as I said. Monster." 

Her fist lands squarely in his stomach. It lacks her usual follow through, but it still hurts. "You're not a monster."

He laughs bitterly. "I am Jotun, a Frost Giant. A killer of Aesir. If you wish to be released from our arrangement, I will not argue." When he gets to his feet, he is lightheaded for a moment.

Darcy plants her hands and pushes herself up slowly into a sitting position. It cannot be comfortable, but it is clear she will not be dissuaded. Loki fixes his gaze on a spot over her head.

"Hey, look at me. If you're going to dump me after all this, then you better look me in the eye when you do it," she says. He steels himself and shifts his focus. Darcy is angry. 

"I'm going to get you some history books from Earth, because you need to catch up. I don't give a flying fuck what color your skin turns. I love **you** \-- who you are, not what you are."

Loki stares at her, and Darcy's face softens. She reaches for his hand, tugs until he sits at her side. "I love you," she says again.

He catches her words in his mouth, kissing her to silence, but Darcy will have none of his tricks. "I love you," she whispers against his lips, "I love you," against his ear, his neck, and his eyelids.

Loki bends his head, whispers to her his greatest fear. "I love you too."

"I'm -- it's not a weakness. I can fight. Volstagg said I was up to seven before Thanos got me," she says. As if she needs to prove her worth to him.

"The weakness is mine. The fear of losing you -- and your life will already be short enough without making you a target," he whispers, laying his cheek against hers. 

He feels her smile rather than sees it. "You might want to talk to your mom about that. I think she's working on it."

It is not immortality, what they have on Asgard, though the humans call it such. They can die, in battle or from illness or poison. Odin and Frigga chose to age beyond most Aesir before partaking again of Idunn's bounty, and had they continued to abstain they would have aged themselves into the grave.

It is not immortality by any stretch of the imagination, unless your life is a mere hundred years, probably less, and the only thing that halts your aging is an entirely different kind of decay. Still, to have a lifetime with Darcy -- _his_ lifetime -- would be a gift beyond measure. A gift he has done nothing to deserve, and cannot find it within himself to turn away.

"I love you," he tells her, kissing her wildly, suddenly full of hope and fear and he should be gentler with her, she is healing still, but his arms are tight around her and he kisses her and kisses her and loves her like there's no tomorrow.

Like there are tomorrows innumerable, and every one for them.

"I love you."

Darcy holds onto him just as tightly and because she has done him the same courtesy, he does not point out the dampness of her cheeks. "Don't be stupid anymore," she says quietly, tapping his temple.

"I will do my best, but I can make no guarantees."

The loud growl from her stomach preempts any other answer and Darcy flushes. "Hey, I've been asleep for seven days. Growing girls are hungry." 

Loki holds his hand over her belly. "Then it is my duty to find you something to eat. My mother will want to see you, if you think you will be up for that."

"Oh my God, of course. She -- I kind of owe her, right?" Darcy plays with the edge of the sheet nervously. "Is Jane still here?"

"No, she and Thor went back to Asgard. But only after my mother assured her that you only needed rest. She and I spent the first two days in here together." He thinks he knows what her next question is. "I believe they plan to return to Midgard when you are ready to go with them."

"What about you?"

"I am not exactly welcome there -- with good reason," he adds, before Darcy can interrupt. "Remember your own reaction when you first saw me."

"That was different," Darcy says. "That's when I still thought you were evil."

"And Midgard does not know otherwise. Some day, perhaps, I may be able to visit your home with you. I would like to, to meet your kin and see your world as you see it. That day has not yet come, but there is no reason for you to stay here just because I cannot join you. You have spent months away already, and your family must be anxious. Go home, my love. Feast with your friends, recuperate, let Jane and Thor fawn over you. And," he adds, cracking a smile, "drop a good word or two about me while you're at it?"

Darcy bites her lip and screws up her face. It reminds Loki of the way Sif looked when they were very young and she did not get her way. But now, instead of handing over his practice sword to remedy it, he can instead drop a kiss on Darcy's brow. "I will wait for you faithfully until you come back. There are -- things I still need to do on Asgard to repair the damages I have caused. When I am through, they should pave the way to my being allowed to visit Earth with you."

"And Thor."

Loki sighs. "Yes, and Thor will be there too. No stopping that, I suppose."

"You know you like it," Darcy says, but then her stomach rumbles again, and Loki is able to ignore the comment by sweeping out of the room in search of food.

It may be true, but that doesn't mean he has to _think_ about it.

In all, they spend another two weeks in Vanaheim. Frigga refuses to allow Darcy to travel via either the newly remade Bifrost or Loki's magic until she is strong enough. "I will not see her in the healing rooms of the palace because the two of you are impatient," she says, ending the discussion firmly.

"Damn," Darcy says after she has left, "I bet getting in trouble with her as a kid was so much worse than Odin."

Loki slumps back into the couch. "You have no idea."

In their last days, Darcy is well enough to go into the city with him and Loki is reminded of the times he would come here as a child. One of his first teachers of magic was from here, but they are told she passed on a few years ago.

He was happy once, in Vanaheim. 

The city is beautiful, has always been a refuge for him, a source of peace and comfort. He takes Darcy to the library, where he would disappear for hours in search of esoteric spells and knowledge. He shows her the garden when he would walk with Frigga, when he was most frustrated with his limitations, or with Thor, or Odin. The nook where he hid childhood trinkets, so he would not be found out and mocked by others. The bay window he liked to sit in on long afternoons, watching clouds or raindrops or warming himself in the sun, free of everything, even the frenzied workings of his mind.

He was half-mad when Thanos found him, fully mad when he was sent to Midgard. Binding his lips, his tongue, his magic, separated him from himself in a way he had not expected. Darcy, and Frigga, helped him start to find a way back, and these lazy days in Vanaheim bring him closer to health, closer to _Loki_ , than he has been in a very long time. Since he first was gripped by a Frost Giant and watched his skin turn blue. Since he first felt Thor's presence as a shadow, first looked at Odin as expectations he could never meet.

He was happy once, in Asgard.

On their last night, Darcy comes to find him in the library. There are a stack of books he means to bring back to Asgard with him. The spells he has found are not sufficient to heal Darcy's scar as properly as he would like. He may have to do some creating and that's best done in his own workroom.

"All work and no play makes Loki a dull boy," Darcy says, winding her arms around his shoulders. Her lips tickle his ear. "Entertain me."

"Not here," he says, ignoring her pout. The library is no place for the entertainment he suspects she has in mind. Not that others haven't put it to such use, down in the stacks of rarely used books, but Loki comes here to study and cannot afford to get distracted by memories of less academic pursuits.

Besides which, it is the matter of only twenty minutes or so to bring her to his room, _their_ room now, and all the advantages that come from bathing chambers and fresh-made beds.

She flips idly through the book at the top of the pile. "There was a messenger with a letter from Jane. SHIELD needs Thor and they want her to come back to work on building our part of the Bifrost. If I'm going with them, I need to be ready in a couple of days."

Loki's jaw clenches. "Then you must let me finish my work. We will be back in Asgard tomorrow and I can heal you before you go."

"I could stay." Her fingers shake over the nape of his neck, below his collar.

 _Selfish, selfish, selfish_ , he thinks, biting back his immediate agreement.

"You can always stay," he says instead.

Darcy is silent long enough that he slants a look at her out of the corner of his eyes. She seems pleased, but uncertain, and oh, he forgets how young she is. He marks his book carefully, closes it, turns and folds her in his arms. "You can always return, as well. Heimdall will grant you access whenever you desire, now. You need only ask. He, and I, will be waiting." 

She frames his face with her hands. "I should go back, at least for a little while. I can't imagine what SHIELD told my parents. I don't really even know how long we've been gone. And I still need to graduate. Officially."

"SHIELD should take care of that for you. They are the government, after all," Loki says with a derisive snort. Gathering the books he needs to take, he offers her his arm. "Dinner first and then...entertainment."

Darcy beams. "Deal."

He is still not used to eating again, to eating with Darcy. They share a goblet wantonly, openly, because they always have, because they are betrothed, because Loki is an uncivilized Frost Giant and Darcy a human and they _can_. But food, food he is not used to, not yet, not again, and that, too, they share, Darcy sliding pieces of fruit past his lips, teasing him into eating just a little more. Loki pushes spoonfuls of healing broth at her in much the same way, and they both of them pick at bread, and meat, and when they catch each others’ eyes she makes him feel as young and giddy as a schoolboy, and the softness in her face, the naked wanting, makes him rush and fumble through the meal. 

He made her a promise what seems like a lifetime ago, the night before battle, before they spilled blood together, and he hopes -- thinks -- she is as eager as he to fulfill it, and not just from boredom.

She will be gone soon, and though her trip will hopefully be short, he wants her to think of him, to desire him, to ache for him and because of him the entire time she's gone.

That night when he kisses her, her mouth tastes like the sweet, ripe figs they'd shared for dessert. She strips off her dress and crawls into bed. The dark red line is raised against her skin and her hands go to cover it. "It's pretty gnarly, I know."

"It is a badge of honor," he reminds her, getting out of his own clothes and lying beside her. He covers her hand with his and touches it. "After I am done, you should barely be able to see it." His hand goes lower, brushing against the soft skin stretched across her hips and Darcy tenses. It happens so quickly he would not have noticed if he were not so attuned to her moods.

"Can we just...sleep tonight?" she asks quietly. "I didn't forget, but I'd rather be in your room, in your bed at home."

"Our room," Loki says firmly, "our bed." He can only just make out her features in the moonlight, half in shadow, and he cannot tell what is wrong. "Sleep is fine, beloved. Whatever you want. I would not ask for more." 

*

Their first day back on Asgard is busy. Jane whisks Darcy away to assist her in packing the workroom where the machine was built. Loki is called to the Vault where, under the careful gaze of Odin, Thor, and Sif, he breaks the entrance to the passage that he lead the Frost Giants to on Thor's coronation day and redoubles the wards on the entire room. When he lays his hand briefly over the Casket, the magic pulses up his arm.

"You are its master now," Odin says. "Its magic recognizes yours." Loki files that away for later examination. 

Thor walks with him to his rooms and Loki is relieved to feel that his anger at Thor is lessened now. People in Asgard will never look at him in the same way they do Thor, but Loki finds that cuts him less deeply.

"Brother, I wish that you could accompany us to Midgard. Jane is already lamenting that she will have to interpret your notes to her minions in her laboratory."

"As do I, but for as short as their lives are, humans hold onto their slights for much longer. Returning there may never be possible without trickery and deception." There is still a guard at his door, but he merely nods at them both and steps aside.

"I will speak with them," Thor says, and Loki knows he means it, knows he believes it may actually do some good.

"It is not necessary."

"I will speak with them." Thor rests a hand on Loki's shoulder, and he is surprised to find it warm, gentle, not at all too heavy. "We will find a way, my brother." 

"Thank you," Loki says. 

Thor pulls him into an awkward embrace and Loki allows it. "We will feast tonight and you are not allowed to hide in here. Darcy fought bravely, as did you, and we shall celebrate you tonight."

"All right, all right," he says, shoving Thor away without malice. "Now run along and make eyes at Jane. I must work before the feast."

Thor cuffs his shoulder again before going and Loki huffs. The books he returned from Vanaheim with are near the door. But it is when he looks around he notices the changes.

There is an additional wardrobe next to his and where his desk was sits a vanity table and a chest of drawers. The far wall has been altered, a doorway added. Loki drops the books and goes through it. His desk is there, along with all his confiscated books and potion making supplies. A fireplace is built into one wall, a sofa facing it. And under the window is a smaller desk, the chair covered in a soft blue green leather that blends into the room. The case sitting on top of it holds Darcy's sword and knives.

"Do you like it?" Frigga is standing in the door. "I gave Odin the instructions and told him to have it done by the time we came back."

Loki spins, startling himself and Frigga with the force of his hug. "Mother," he whispers, burying his face in her shoulder, because he does not know how else to say what he means, what he feels.

Frigga's arms tighten around him, and she presses a kiss to his hair. "My poor baby, did you think we would not celebrate your happiness? Your return?" She tips his chin up, pinching gently to make the lesson stick, just like when he was young. "You are my son, my light, and I rejoice for thee, my child."

He shakes his head, still overwhelmed, unable to articulate anything except, "Mother."

"Darcy is a joy, and I look forward to her joining our family. I look forward to the family you will create together. But even did I not, I would still welcome her here, my darling, for your sake. For the burdens that have slipped from your shoulders, the shadows that have melted away. For the boy who has come back to me at last. I will not lose you again, Loki Friggason."

Loki rests his forehead on his mother's, closes his eyes, and breathes. He is home. 

After Frigga leaves him, he spends the entire afternoon working. After several attempts to repair the the wounds on the delicate flesh of the plums he asked for from the kitchens, he thinks he has hit it. The spell should reduce Darcy's scar to barely a scratch. And if he has layered in a few protection spells, no one will be the wiser.

"You can't go to dinner dressed like that. And you have some kind of black soot on your cheek."

Darcy is there, dressed in a dark peacock blue gown. Her hair is pulled back from her face and she is again wearing the copper armband. 

"Forget the feast and let's stay here," he says, pitching his voice low.

Darcy smirks. "Tempting, but this dress is too good to end up crumpled on the floor. At least not until I've gotten you to dance with me at least once. Get cleaned up and change or we're going to be late to our own party."

"We don't have to leave the room to dance," Loki points out, but Darcy remains unmoved. A few minutes in the bathing chamber serve to clean his face and hands, and his own magic turns his clothing into something more acceptable for an Asgardian feast.

"Cheater," Darcy murmurs, but she takes his arm anyway and tugs him outside. It isn't until they're halfway to dinner that he realizes the guards are gone. 

The doors of the hall swing open and when they step inside, the room is washed in silence. Loki feels that familiar sting of humiliation until Darcy pushes in closer to his side. At the head table, Odin gets to his feet.

"Son, Darcy, please. Join us." The rest of the room takes Odin's cue and also stands

He is frozen in place. 

"Loki," Darcy says quietly, tugging his arm. He squares his shoulders and leads Darcy through the center of the room. There are two places, both on his mother's side of the table. Loki pulls out a chair for Darcy. The corner of his mouth curls up when he sees her watching Frigga for her cues. As clever as she is, Darcy is not used to the royal customs of Asgard.

Odin gives him a nod that Loki returns. Thor is beaming.

It is the training he has had since childbirth that gets him through the moment. He has been so used to being shamed, being mocked, berated, he forgot that these are his people, too. That they loved him once, when he was young, that despite the fears of Thor's closest friends, of Heimdall who sees all, despite the shock of Thor's exile, they welcomed him as ruler when Odin slept, most of them. For so long he thought they saw him as a weakling, a liar, a cheat, and he knows, now, they have seen who he really is. What he really is.

But they stood for him, and they cheer for him, and even Loki, cynical as he is, can only attribute so much of that to the presence of his parents, his brother.

They raise their glasses to him, and it is only the etiquette Frigga taught him before he could even walk that keeps him from making a fool of himself, or offending anyone, because for once in his life he does not know what to do.

And when the assembled company smashes their goblets so that no toast may befoul them after his name, his vision swims with tears and only Darcy at his side, only her warm grip on his hand, keeps him from fleeing the room.

"Breathe, Loki, before you turn blue," Darcy whispers. Immediately, she claps her hand over her mouth. "Fuck. Fucking fuck, that is not how I meant it at all. It's an expression -- "

He cuts her flustered apology off with a kiss. There are a few bold whistles from the room -- Volstagg, he thinks -- when Loki pulls away. "I know what you meant."

Down the table, Odin is smiling at him. He sits and the rest of the room follows suit. 

"Let us feast," Odin says, the only encouragement Asgard has ever needed, and the meal begins.

"Still not used to this," Darcy whispers, watching in awe.

Loki looks up from carefully peeling pieces of gooseflesh off the bone with his fingers. "You never get used to it."

After the food has been cleared, more wine is poured and when Darcy sees it bubble up in her glass, she laughs. "Oh man, Asgardian champagne. Don't let me drink too much or you're gonna have to carry me out of here."

He smirks, dropping a hand on her thigh under the table. "The way you look in that dress would urge me to do that regardless. I would hate to have to fight for your honor."

Darcy leans in close and angles her shoulders so he gets quite an eyeful. "I'm not leaving with anyone but you. But you did promise me a dance."

"So I did." He turns to Frigga, requests a minstrel, and the hall quiets down as the music starts. "My lady," Loki says, rising and holding a hand out. 

Darcy lets him pull her to her feet and walk her out to the center of the room. "You are one smooth badass, babe." 

He can't help grinning at her, even as he wraps his arms around her and pulls her close. She is gorgeous, his Darcy. Gorgeous and brilliant and when he hums along with the minstrel she sways into him, and he wants never to let her go. 

They dance alone for one song before Thor drags Jane from her seat. He even spies Frigga nudging Odin up onto his feet. When the floor becomes crowded, Darcy pulls at him. She snatches a bottle of the sparkling wine as they sneak out of the hall.

"You and me have a date," she says, taking off at a run. Her dress streams out behind her and Loki laughs loudly as he gives chase.

He catches up to her at the door to their chambers, pressing her against it and kissing behind her ear before she gets the door open and they go tumbling inside. The wine bottle goes unnoticed, falling to the carpet when Darcy twines her arms around his neck and kisses him, still laughing. "Love you," he murmurs, trailing his lips from her mouth to her neck and nibbling right in the spot he has learned makes her groan. He's going to miss her tomorrow when she leaves.

"I'll miss you too," Darcy says, and he had not realized he'd spoken that last part aloud. "So," she continues, tilting her head to give him a greater expanse of skin, "you had better follow through on your promise of fucking me till I can't stand. Want to think about you every time I walk, every time I feel a twinge, an ache, I want to feel you," she takes his hand and places it on her abdomen, "right here. Think you can do that for me?"

Loki answers by sweeping her into his arms.

"I believe I can, yes," he says. In one quick move, he slings her over his shoulder. Darcy shrieks, her shoes dropping to the floor when she kicks her feet. Tightening his hold, he smacks her ass playfully. "Don't want to drop you."

"You're ridiculous," she says, when he drops her onto the bed. Her face is red and her hair is falling out of its complicated twists. She is so lovely that he cannot believe she's real sometimes. Loki is sure he has not laughed this often since he was young.

"That's rich, coming from you," he teases, tugging at the straps on her shoulders. "You should divest yourself of this if you plan on keeping it."

It's Darcy's turn to smirk as she gets up onto her knees and reaches back. With one slow pull, her dress loosens and pools at her waist. She is bare underneath. 

Loki's eyes darken. He bends his head to her breast, splays his fingers around her waist.

Darcy moans softly, arching into his lips, then lets him push her down, onto her back. He pulls the rest of the dress off, spells his own clothes away. He wants to kiss every inch of her, to run his lips, his tongue, over her skin and memorize her taste. He promised her, though, and she's already panting, wriggling beneath him.

"I've been thinking about this all day," she says, pulling at him until he's lying on top of her. He nuzzles at her throat and she whimpers. "Jane was talking about work and translating this equation and that whatever and all I wanted to do was lock myself in here with you until..."

"Minx," he says, stopping her from finishing that thought. "Did poor Jane have any idea of the debauchery going on inside your head?" Nipping a line between the valley of her breasts, he laughs at how she's trying to pull his head to where she really wants his mouth. 

When he dips his head to her scar, Darcy tugs harder, but Loki will have none of it. He wants to heal the scar for her sake, because she deserves to be comfortable in her own skin, because he would not have her look at her body in the mirror and turn away in shame, but she is beautiful to him like this as much as she was before. More so, having fought for him, for his people, his family, and he ignores her fingers on his cheeks to nuzzle the scar from tip to base, to kiss it, lick it, worship it.

"Loki." Her voice is distinctly uncomfortable and he won't have it. 

Sitting back on his haunches, he kisses the inside of her knee. "Do you trust me?"

"Of course I do," she answers without reservation.

Loki gets up and goes into the other room. When he comes back, he has three small vials in his hand. One, he hands to Darcy. "Prevention. Better now than before we get too...distracted." They both drink and he takes the empty back from her. The third one he tips into his hand and over her belly. 

Darcy winces. "Cold. And tingly."

"It will help with the spell." 

He rubs the oil into her skin, whispering the words of the spell over and over, and Darcy hisses as the scar retracts.

"That tickles," she says, sitting up on her elbows. "What's going on down there, and why isn't it sex?"

Spreading his hands across her torso as wide as he can, he presses down and the heat seeps into her skin. At the end of the spell, he has to blink back the wave of dizziness. But all that is left in a very thin line, barely visible. "Better?"

Darcy's eyes are wide. "Whoa," she says. "Definitely not sex."

"Sex can happen now," he offers. 

Darcy pulls him up and kisses him, mumbling "thank you," into his mouth.

She bites his lower lip, sucks it into her mouth. He ends up with a lapful of her and she kisses him roughly until his lips feel tender and swollen from it. Then she dips her head to his neck and sucks over his pulse until he can feel the ache from where she is breaking the capillaries.

"Darcy, love," he murmurs, grasping her hips. She shifts closer and he can feel the heat of her, hovering.

"Please," she says as he guides her down onto him.

And then he's inside her, warm and wet and tight and she's straddling him, rocking and moaning, but he promised, and they both of them want his promise, so he rolls over, on top of her, and when Darcy locks her legs behind his back he starts to thrust. His movements are hard, and he slams against her clit with each deep slide, making both of them groan.

"Loki," she cries out, arching her body up off the bed. He gets one hand under her back to balance her and snaps his hips hard, grinding into her. This will only be the first time they do this tonight. Fast and hard will only make the next time sweeter, when he draws out her pleasure so long that Darcy will shake and plead with him.

Darcy comes to pieces around him and he pushes, _pushes_ , carrying himself over the edge of the abyss into her.

After, Darcy shoves him gently until he rolls onto his back next to her. She links their hands together and turns to smile at him. "Hey."

Loki kisses her fingers. "Get some rest," he says, voice wicked. "You're going to need it."

She lets out a low, throaty laugh and curls up around him. "Mmm, yes sir."

They don't stop until the the sky is streaked orange from the rising sun. Darcy's body is limp and heavy across his chest. There are bruises from his fingers on her hips and thighs and on her neck and breasts from his mouth. They will stay as reminders of him, of this night, for a while, but not as long as he thinks she's going to be away.

Loki does not sleep. He'll have plenty of time to do that later.

He runs gentle fingers over her back, memorizing the feel of her, murmuring protection spells and well-wishes. He cannot tell her to stay, though he wants to, and suspects she wants him to as well. He cannot tell her that her absence will be worse than any slap she meted out while he was bound.

He cannot watch over her while she is gone, though he trusts that Thor will watch her _nearly_ as well. 

But he can do this, now. Hold her, and love her, and plan for her safety.

He can believe her when she says she will return.

*

**_Thirteen Months Later_ **

When he materializes at the the Bifrost site inside Jane's lab, Loki is unsurprised to see SHIELD agents surrounding the equipment, guns drawn. He is surprised to see Darcy shove past them all and jump into his arms. No, actually he's more surprised to see Darcy wearing a black SHIELD jumpsuit.

"Hi," she says, kissing his cheek. "Sorry about the welcoming committee. Thor yelled, but Fury was pretty insistent."

He nods. "Asgard would do the same." Unstrapping the bag he is carrying from his back, he makes it clear he is carrying no weapons.

"Brother! Stand down, would you? Loki will do us no harm," Thor says, glaring at the agents.

"SHIELD, stand down," a voice that Loki recognizes come over the speakers in the lab. Agent Coulson comes through the doors. "Loki," he says.

"Son of Coul," Loki says, inclining his head with a smile. Coulson rolls his eyes.

"Welcome to Earth. Again."

"Thank you for having me." His arm around Darcy's waist is trembling, just a little, but the rest of him is cool, composed. Somehow he thinks Coulson isn't fooled for a minute. "I appreciate the chance to meet Darcy's family." Despite the orders from Coulson, Loki is still surrounded by cocked weapons. It hurts him for Darcy's sake, but is no more than he could expect. He thinks of Darcy's slap, of needles and thread, and offers Coulson a hand, though he knows he cannot keep the tension off his face, that his muscles are taut.

Coulson shakes it. 

"I take it Miss Lewis has explained the security protocols," Coulson says.

He tightens his hold on Darcy briefly, sees the angry look cross Thor's face. "She has. A tracking bracelet."

"I have one too," Darcy says, pushing up her sleeve. It's a thin black band. Just under the edge is a blinking green light. "I figured it was only fair."

Thor bristles. "I still strongly object to this. Loki has proven himself -- " 

"Thor -- Brother. It's fine. Truly," Loki says, holding his wrist out for Coulson to strap on the device. After he does, he nods to the agents in the room. They holster their firearms and file out. "I appreciate your assistance in arranging this visit. Darcy says you were quite adamant on her behalf."

Coulson glances at Darcy. "She's done good work. And she made an excellent case for you. I just backed her up."

"Nonetheless," Loki says. "Thank you." 

Darcy rolls her eyes. "Enough mutual admiration. We have big plans. You have to say hi to Jane and tell her she's awesome for building our very own rainbow bridge to alienland, and then come see my home and my parents and my siblings and _never leave me again_."

Loki looks at her and smiles. Frigga was right, as always -- oh, how he needs her, his beautiful, wonderful Darcy. "I think I can do that," he says, and lets her take him wherever she will.

*

Three weeks later, he is sitting in a crowded, noisy building, waiting for Darcy to come back. He forgot how visceral everything in on Midgard. There are people arguing loudly across the hall, voices bouncing off the marble. There is a mother and a squalling infant on the bench next to his, the child obviously as uncomfortable as he is.

The tracker inhibits his magic a bit -- an effect he's sure SHIELD was aware of -- but nowhere near enough to keep it from him entirely. Holding his hand up subtly, he whispers a calming spell and the crying ceases.

"Aw, next you're going to start healing the sick and ending world hunger," Darcy says, appearing in front of him. She is wearing the dress from their last night in Asgard, but she's altered it to end at her knees and is wearing black high heeled shoes.

"Hardly," he says, getting up and tugging at the sleeves of his suit. "Are they ready for us?"

"Yup. My parents are waiting too. Let's go get hitched."

"Your wish is my command."

Darcy takes his arm, and then they are through the door and in front of a judge, the two of them and Darcy's parents, Thor and Jane. There will still be a ceremony on Asgard, to bind them by the traditions of his own people, but Darcy wanted her parents to see her wed, and he would not deny her this, or anything.

The words are short, brisk, but no less elegant than those he is used to, among the Aesir. And then the judge hands them a piece of paper, tells them to sign, _Loki Friggason_ , because Odin still claims him but Frigga has ever and always been his parent, has never once put the good of Asgard before that of her children, of him. Darcy signs as well, and the judge says he can kiss her, as though he needs permission from anyone but Darcy, and then.

 _Oh_ , and then.

She is his, at last, and he is hers. They are one, and Loki knows, finally, completely, who he is.

The air rings with congratulations from his new in-laws, his brother and soon-to-be sister, and Heimdall watches from Asgard on behalf of Odin All-Father, and Frigga knows everything and Loki -- well.

Loki wraps his arms around his wife, and kisses her.

**THE END, BUT ONLY FOR NOW.**


End file.
